Dedication
by xBleedingBlackRosex
Summary: "Kurt had heard stories about Dalton, of course. Who hadn't?" Kurt takes a part-time secretary job in Dalton's main office and soon leaves quite an impact on the school, especially when he catches the eye of a certain dark-haired juvenile...badboy!Blaine
1. Chapter 1: The Secretary

**I've succumbed to the badboy!Blaine trend. Don't judge me. ;) Okay, you can judge me...But anywho. Enjoy!**

**NOTE: In this AU, McKinley and Dalton are twenty minutes away. Not two hours.**

**WARNING: Lots of foul language. Oodles and boodles of it. Just a heads up...**

…

Everybody knew almost immediately about the new secretary. News spread quickly around Dalton Reform School for Boys, after all. The young man only had to be spotted once, walking into the office, for word to go around. The two or three students who'd seen him arrive were quick to let everyone know about the 'new meat.' For the rest of the afternoon, an absurd number of boys purposefully got themselves sent down to the disciplinarian just so that they could get a look at the young secretary.

"Dudes, he's a fucking _god_," Jeff informed their small group as soon as he'd returned from his scolding about the treatment of classroom furniture. He promptly plopped down into his boyfriend's lap, ignoring the empty seat only two feet away. "He's tall and really thin and he's got these fuckin' _hypnotic_ eyes and-"

"Shit, Jeff, your boyfriend's _right_ there!" David pointed towards the young man in question.

Nick shrugged, kissing Jeff's neck. "I know he'd never cheat on me. Besides, I walked by the guy on my way to sixth. Jeff's right – he's _hot_. Totally gay, too; no doubt about it. If the hair doesn't tip you off, those skinny jeans are a _dead_ giveaway." He traced random patterns across his boyfriend's back with his fingertip. "Might have to invite him for a threesome sometime..."

Jeff smirked. "Sounds good to me, baby."

Wes turned away as the two of them began to make out. "David, what do you know about him?"

The dark-skinned boy raised a shoulder and eyebrow in synchrony. "Not much...Just that he's from that local public school – McKinley, or whatever – and he's assisting here as community service or some goodie-two-shoes crap like that."

Wes nodded. "I heard that too, yeah." Then he smirked. "He's in for a shocker...He probably had no clue what he was signing himself up for. I bet he's gonna get the shit beat out of him within the first week."

"Ten bucks. You're on." David and Wes shook on it.

"What's his name?"

Nick and Jeff broke apart to join Wes and David as they stared over at the curly-haired boy in their midst. This was the first time Blaine had spoken since first period. He'd been in a foul mood all day, and they hadn't dared try to force him to socialize.

"I...don't know," Wes confessed. He looked to the others, who all shook their heads.

"Mr. Hot Secretary?" Nick offered.

"Skinny Jeans Boy?" Jeff threw out.

All of a sudden, Blaine got to his feet.

"And where are you going?" Wes demanded calmly. They were all used to Blaine's unannounced arrivals and departures. Nobody at Dalton dared interrogate him. Not even his friends.

The boy strode passed him towards the door. "I think it's about time to meet this guy myself," was the cool response. "If he's as hot as Nick and Jeff claim he is...I may just need to get to know him a bit better. Welcome him to Dalton, and all that shit."

…

Kurt had heard stories about Dalton, of course. Who hadn't? But when he arrived for his first day on the job, he immediately began to question his decision. At the time, he had only thought of how good the volunteer work would look on his college apps, and he was more than willing to spend his afternoons off campus, even if it _was_ at a school for juvenile delinquents. His 'community service' opted him out of having a sixth period, and his fifth was just study hall, which meant that he could leave during lunch and then go straight home after completing his mandatory minimum of three hours at Dalton.

Besides, it wasn't like he had glee club practice anymore to fill up his time after school.

The grim-faced guard at the gate gave him a very suspicious once-over. Kurt flashed his best trustworthy smile, and the guard grudgingly waved him through. He parked in the first empty spot he came across, locked the doors, and made his way inside with his head held high.

A tired-looking woman in half-moon spectacles glanced up at the sound of the door opening and gave him a warm smile of welcome.

"Ah, you must be young Mr. Hummel!" she greeted, standing and offering a bony hand to shake. "I'm Mrs. Roberts – I'm the head of administrations here at Dalton. Principal Dickenson is just through there." She indicated the only door on the left. Gesturing to the door on the right, she added, "Our head disciplinarian, Mr. Monroe, is where most kids go when they come in here, I'm afraid...But go on in! Principal Dickenson is expecting you."

Kurt nodded his thanks and made his way to the half-open door on the left, pointedly ignoring the stares he could feel drilling into his back from the bench of boys waiting outside Mr. Monroe's office. Judging him.

"Excuse me?" Kurt knocked softly.

The balding man looked up from his paperwork. "Oh! You must be" – he checked one of his papers – "Kurt Hummel, the boy McKinley sent over! Wonderful, wonderful..." He came around his desk to shake Kurt's hand with both of his own. "I can't tell you how glad I am you're here. I was afraid nobody would sign up for the position...Come in, sit down, sit down! Let's chat, shall we?" He closed the door behind Kurt and ushered him into one of the chairs before collapsing back into his own.

"Principal Dickenson," Kurt began, "I must-"

"Please, call me Mr. Jim," the elderly man interrupted, his green eyes shining with kindness. Kurt could tell that it was not a common expression for his face, and did not have to wonder why.

"Mr. Jim," he corrected himself. "I must confess, I'm still not entirely sure what my exact duties are..."

"Simple really," the principal assured. He dug out a navy blue folder with the red Dalton crest on its cover and passed it over. "For the most part, you'll probably be spending your time going to fetch students from class and bringing them here."

"Why?"

"Because simply being _told_ to go to the office oftentimes isn't enough."

Kurt's mouth opened a little. "Oh."

Mr. Jim cleared his throat and pinned Kurt across the desk with an intense gaze. "This is a reform school, Kurt...These kids are- Well, they're not the nicest, or most obedient of boys. They'll say mean things and they tend to have very short tempers...But I assure you, we have taken every measure possible to ensure the safety of everybody here, including yourself."

Kurt took a deep breath. "Is that all? Just bringing students back here?"

Mr. Jim paused for a second before answering. It was clear from his face that he had expected Kurt to be scared, or skeptical of the school's policies. "Uh, well the things that are typically considered secretarial duties – you know, answering the phone and filing papers and whatnot – is pretty much already taken care of by Mrs. Roberts. But in your free time you'll assist her and me with whatever odd jobs we might need help with."

"Sounds easy enough," Kurt shrugged.

The older man smiled at him. Then he seemed to remember something. "Oh! Another thing – your school tells me you're good at French, is that right?"

"Fairly good, yes," he answered humbly. _And by that I mean_ _I'm more fluent than McKinley's French teacher_. But he didn't say that.

"Wonderful!" Mr. Jim's eyes lit up, and he tapped a finger on Kurt's new folder. "In there you'll find a list of students who are currently flunking French. I know you're scheduled to leave at three-thirty every day, but classes end at three, so I was hoping you'd be up to tutoring some of them for half an hour or so..."

Kurt opened the folder and scanned the list of meaningless names. "That should be fine," he allowed.

"Wonderful." It was clear that this was Mr. Jim's favorite word. Or at least when it came to Kurt. "I'll let Madame Abel know, and you can go talk to her during sixth period. In the meantime, would you like a tour? I could call in one of the students...?"

Kurt spotted a map of campus underneath the list of names, though. "Actually, I think I'll be just fine with this. Thank you, though. Will you be needing me for the next half hour or so?"

He shook his head. "I don't think so, no. We'll start you off gradually, get you used to the way we work around here. Get you settled and all." He quickly indicated where the French room was on the map and then sent him on his way with a parting smile, thanking him once more for volunteering for the job.

Kurt couldn't help but wonder why nobody else had taken up the offer. _Is Dalton really all that bad?_

Turned out, it was.

…

He explored campus until the bell for class changes rang out through the hallways. Boys in various forms of the same navy and red uniform streamed out into the hallway. Having already memorized the way to the French classroom, he made his way there without looking anybody in the eye, keeping his back straight, trying to appear as if he had a purpose and was not to be messed with. He could hear the whispers following him, feel the eyes upon him, but he did not let it faze him. He had stopped caring what people thought of him years ago.

He reached his destination without any incident and approached the front desk. A young woman was writing something on the chalkboard, but she paused when she spotted him.

"Hello, I'm Kurt-"

"The new secretary?" she asked in a thick French accent. She dropped her chalk and grabbed his hand, pulling him closer and kissing the air by his cheeks. He returned the gesture without having to think about it. "It is so good to meet you! Yes, Principal Dickenson called me, told me you would be coming by. Parlez-vous français?"

"Oui."

She beamed at him. "Perfect. I am sure you will be a great help. These boys..." She gestured around the classroom hopelessly, indicating the scattering of teenagers chatting loudly and sitting atop the desks. "They seem to have no interest in learning."

"Well, if you need any help, I would love to assist in any way I can." Kurt smiled politely.

She looked startled by his offer. Then her face lit up, as if he'd just suggested he take over the class and give her the rest of the day off. "Oh, Kurt! How thoughtful! That would be great! What would you say to being my teacher's assistant for this period?" Then, without waiting for his response, she turned to the phone on the wall and practically sang, "I will call Principal Dickenson now!"

He gaped at her back. _Okay. I guess I'm a TA now, too. Alright. I can do that. Spend fifth period in the office, sixth period in here, then go tutor some guys until I can leave. Easy. I've got this..._

…

_I don't got this._

He resisted the urge to smash his face into the table. He had known that these boys were failing, but he had not realized they would be _this_ bad at French. They were butchering it worse than Finn's Spanish. And that was saying something. It also didn't help that there was a student with dark curls and intense hazel eyes staring at him from over by the bookshelves, completely unabashed when Kurt caught him looking and glared.

"Look, bro, I get that you're supposed to be helping us with this shit," a redheaded sophomore groaned, throwing his pencil down. "But I just don't _care_, y'know?" The others echoed his sentiment. "So why don't you just prance off on your merry fuckin' way and leave us-"

Kurt slammed his textbook down. Hard. The table immediately fell silent.

"Let's get something straight, here and now," he practically hissed, piercing them each individually with his iciest gaze. "One, I'm not your _bro_. Two, I don't _care_ that you're all a bunch of blundering neanderthals with barely enough brain cells to work a coffee machine. It's my job to tutor you idiots in this language, so if you're going to complain, do it in _French_ at least! And you can hate me as much as you please, but you might as well face the facts that I'm going to do my damnedest to get your pathetic grades out of the sewers. _Do you understand me?_"

There was a heavy silence. And then that same redhead spoke, his voice much quieter, more subdued. "Um...Yes, sir?"

Kurt let himself chuckle darkly a little. "Call me that one more time and I'll rip your balls off. It's _Kurt_." He sat back down, smirking to himself at their uneasy expressions. _This could be fun._"Now, if you would all turn to page twenty-three and repeat after me..."

…

Blaine would admit it – he was intrigued.

By the second day, everybody in school knew that the secretary's name was Kurt, and that he tutored in French, and that he TA'd for Madame Abel sixth period, and that he could hold his ground against Firehead Henry.

But Blaine wanted to know more.

He knew that Kurt would arrive at the office in the middle of their lunch period, so at half past noon he made his way towards the Main Hall, ignoring the catcalls from Nick and Jeff that followed him out the door. He did not know why this boy fascinated him so much. He was gorgeous, of course; there was no denying that much. And Blaine was always up for a challenge. Trying to seduce the self-righteous office help would definitely be considered one. But more than anything, he was curious as to what made Kurt tick. Why was he here? Why didn't he seem fazed by the students' insolence? Why did he have to look so damn edible in those jeans of his?

Just as he turned the corner, he overheard voices.

"-think you can just waltz in here like a fuckin' _faggot_-"

"Would you mind hurrying this up? I've got more important things to deal with than your pathetic cry for attention."

"_What_ did you just say to me, cocksucker?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, does your complete and utter lack of maturity affect your ability to hear?"

The hulk of a boy grabbed the front of Kurt's shirt and slammed him back into the wall of the corridor, snarling. The brunette seemed indifferent, which only infuriated him further. He punched the wall directly next to Kurt's left ear.

"You've got some _balls_, talkin' to me like that!" he roared.

"Well I should hope so. More than I can say for you, I'm afraid."

"You son of a-!"

The fist that went sailing for Kurt's face never met its target. Instead, his arm was twisted painfully behind his back, and with a howl of surprise he dropped Kurt to the ground. The brunette caught himself before he could fall over, attempting to catch his breath as he straightened his shirt.

"I think it would be wise to walk away now," Blaine breathed in the boy's ear.

"_Anderson_," he growled. But Blaine could hear the fear in his voice, and he smirked. With a final yank on the captured arm, he sent the guy scurrying down the hall, proclaiming that it was not over and that he would be back. Kurt and Blaine both ignored him.

"You alright there, Legs?" Blaine drawled, hands deep in his pockets, his regular cocky smile in place.

Kurt glowered at him. "My name is Kurt. And I'm fine." He grabbed his bag and swung it back onto his shoulder. "I suppose I should be thanking you..." His eyes flickered up and down Blaine's body before he finished with, "But I don't think I will."

Blaine's smug smile was wiped clean off his face. "_Excuse_ me?" he demanded dangerously.

"You're excused."

He scoffed in disbelief, falling into step beside Kurt as the taller boy continued towards the office. "I don't believe it! I save your life and you snub me! What a jackass move. I'll make sure not to do _that_ again."

"See to it that you don't," Kurt agreed cooly. "You didn't save my life – Anderson, was it? A black eye, perhaps, but not my life. I've lived through much worse than a simple beating." His voice had taken on a dark undertone. Clearly this was not his first time being threatened. The thought, for whatever reason, did not settle well with Blaine. He did not like that idea of Kurt getting hurt, but he did not know why. More often than not it was _him_ inflicting the hurt on somebody else. Why should he care about this sharp-tongued stranger?

"You're not going to last long here with that mouth," he warned.

Kurt raised a delicate eyebrow at him. "Oh?" was all he said.

"You're gonna need somebody to look out for you," Blaine continued. "Someone who knows this school front and back, knows how to keep others in line."

Kurt paused just outside the office doors, turning to face him fully now. "And you think this great protector of mine should be you?"

Blaine's smirk returned. He drew flush up against Kurt, arms pinning him to the wall. "I can take care of you like nobody else can, baby," he murmured, forcing his leg between Kurt's to make sure his point was made. He grinned when he heard Kurt's breathing hitch. His lips hovered, mere centimeters away from Kurt's neck. "I can make you feel so _good_..."

Kurt placed a hand in the center of his chest and shoved. "No thanks," he said harshly, although his cheeks were a little pink. "But when you've learned some proper manners and etiquette, feel free to come find me." He shoved passed Blaine and reached for the office door. Just as he turned the knob, however, he added over his shoulder, "And next time, if you're going to creep on me in the library, at least do it discreetly."

Blaine stared pointedly at Kurt's ass as he disappeared into the office.

…

Wes leaned towards David from where they were spying from the opposite end of the hallway.

"Twenty bucks says Blaine will get in his pants before the end of the month."

David grinned maliciously. That would give them just over two weeks. Blaine was a master of seduction, it was true, but Kurt seemed pretty damn stubborn.

"You're _so_ on."

They shook on it.

…

**So how'd I do? *peeks out from under rock* Sound interesting? I've never written anything like this before, so hopefully I do it justice! :)**

**Kisses,**

**~Ripple**


	2. Chapter 2: Tutoring

**I'm so glad you guys enjoy this stronger, less submissive Kurt! :D I've read a lot of badboy!Blaine fics where Kurt totally falls for him right off that bat. But not here ;) Anderson's gotta ****_work_**** for it! Also, cuddlepenguin mentioned "youcan'thurtme!Kurt" and I've got to admit, I ****_love_**** that characterization. That's exactly what I was going for. Private Lady also called it "sassy!Kurt" which is definitely accurate...So thank you, one and all, for the support!**

**Shout out to silverfox! Your review reminded me ****_exactly_**** of my subconscious Yelah. XD It was uncanny...And it makes me love you even harder! *glomp***

…

Kurt spent his time in the office helping out Mrs. Roberts and doing his homework at the desk they'd set up for him beside hers. Apart from the occasional errand – run these up to Ms. Brown, go make copies of this for Mr. Hoover, could you scan these records into the computer? – he was left to his own devices. Only when he was sent to bring students back to the office did he find any source of entertainment.

His first 'summoning,' as he liked to call them, was for a boy in ceramics. The room stank of paint, clay, and murky water.

"Yes?" the vulture-like teacher acknowledged his presence, her hands wet and encrusted with half-dried gray clay. He struggled not to grimace at them.

"I'm here for Nicholas Duval?"

There was a smattering of snickers through the room, and a brunette near the back stood up from his wheel. "Way to go, Nick," a dark-skinned boy chuckled, slapping him on the back and leaving behind a distinct gray handprint. Kurt shuddered at the thought of trying to wash that out, before remembering that nobody here seemed to care much for appearances.

"You here to cart me off to Dickhead?" the boy smirked. The ceramics instructor sighed heavily and returned to her pot. Kurt rolled his eyes at _her_ passiveness and _his_ bad manners.

"If you're referring to Principal Dickenson, then yes. Apparently you had a bit of a scuffle yesterday afternoon that landed somebody in the nurse's office...?"

Nick actually looked pleased with himself. He exchanged a fist-bump with that same African-American boy on his left before finally heading across the classroom towards Kurt, and the door. "What can I say – the dude was being a total prick. I put him in his place. And hey, if it means I get to be escorted by _you_..." He reached for Kurt's ass.

"Touch my jeans with those _filthy_ hands and I swear to god I will break all of your fingers, Mr. Duval."

Nick drew his hand back in surprise, but then laughed it off. "I like you – you remind me of Jeff." Then, even though Kurt did not ask, he explained, "He's my boyfriend. He can get pretty prissy about his clothes, too. I think that _fire_ you've got will keep you alive here...At least for a while."

"How encouraging. I'll keep that in mind," Kurt deadpanned, still walking resolutely back down the stairwell towards the main office, wondering in passing whether _all_ boys were going to be this forward with him here.

…

He brought in five more guys within the next hour – a higher than average number, Mr. Jim assured – until at last the bell for sixth period rang and he escaped to the French room. Madame Abel seemed very relieved to see him again. She automatically sat him down at a desk near hers with a stack of exams to grade. He did not need to look at the key; his French was far too advanced to struggle with a French II test. This meant that he could focus only half of his attention on the papers and the other half on the class. He was appalled by how rude and disrespectful the students were towards Madame Abel. She was attempting to teach them the chapter on hospitals and injuries, and Kurt soon lost count of how many inappropriate comments were thrown around. It was like a zoo for disreputable juveniles.

"Hey, French Boy!" one of the boys called, talking right over Madame Abel as if she wasn't even there.

Kurt threw a practiced glare in his direction. "My name is Kurt."

His correction was ignored. "French Boy, how'd you get to be so fluent, huh? Lived in Paris I bet, right? Probably went to those fuckin' nude beaches every day!"

"Dude, Thad, stop being such a dick," an Asian boy sighed, back-handing Thad across the shoulder. Then, to Kurt, he added, "Just ignore him. He can be kind of a douche sometimes."

"You know, funnily enough, I figured that much out for myself." Kurt smiled sarcastically before returning to the tests. "As far as I can tell, you are _all_ a bunch of douches."

"What makes you say that?" he frowned. "Some of us can actually be quite civil, I'll have you know."

Kurt raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "Really?" He capped his red pen and leaned forward. "Then why don't you kindly _shut the hell up_ and pay attention to the lesson Madame Abel is so thoughtfully trying to teach you?"

Not caring what the response was, he looked back down at the exams and refocused on his grading, circling a large red 73 at the top of the page a moment later. He was hardly aware of the silence that befell the classroom, of the eyes boring into him, trying to figure out if he was for real.

"Kurt...Tu n'as pasà faire ça pour moi," Madame Abel murmured. At that moment, she looked so young, so insecure. Kurt felt awful for her. It must have been hard to go to work every day and know that nobody cared about what she was saying. That was never a fate he would wish upon anybody. And she was clearly a lovely woman; she deserved respect.

"Ce sont tous des idiots," he responded. "Ils doivent apprendre à obéir." He stood and handed back the graded tests. "Et il est clair qu'ils doivent aussi apprendre le _français_. Leur grammaire est épouvantable."

She beamed up at him. "Merci beaucoup..."

…

During tutoring that afternoon – this time with a new group of boys – he recognized many faces: Thad; the Asian boy from sixth period; Nick and his dark-skinned friend; and a blond who, judging from the arm thrown around Nick's chair, was probably his boyfriend Jeff. They were not as resistant as yesterday's group, but they were still frustratingly unfocused and unmotivated. This time, when that dark-haired boy appeared again, he sat right down at the other end of the table. None of the boys seemed fazed by his arrival. Kurt paused.

"Are you struggling with French, too?"

"Nope."

Kurt sighed, but decided that it was not worth an argument. "Alright, if you'll all turn to page thirty-seven, we will review-"

"I have a question!"

Kurt gritted his teeth. "Yes, Mr. Anderson?"

"What's your last name?"

Kurt closed his eyes, counted to three. "Unless you have a question about _French_, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to be quiet. Now, as I was saying, this chapter's grammar section focuses predominantly on the use of-"

"Hey, Kurt, how long have you been studying French?"

Kurt had to hold back a snarl. "Either you focus on the lesson or you leave!"

Blaine said nothing. Just smiled at him. With a huff, Kurt returned to the textbook. "Anyway, in order to understand this form, you've got to first understand the conjugation rules you learned last chapter concerning-"

This time when the curly-haired boy spoke up to interrupt, it was at least in French and, although flawed, it was still noticeably better than the others'. "Pourquoi avez-vous pris ce travail?"

Kurt slammed his hands down onto the tabletop and leapt to his feet. He'd had enough. He would not stand for this kind of disruption. "What is your name, Mr. Anderson?" he asked in a quiet, controlled tone.

"Blaine," he smirked, clearly unaware of the impending outburst. Or just uncaring.

"Well, _Blaine_, you can either shut the hell up and listen to the lesson, or else get the fuck out of this library and leave me alone before I smash your face in with this goddamn textbook!"

They all stared at him with dropped jaws. Even Blaine seemed momentarily speechless. Kurt didn't care; he was fuming. How _dare_ he invade on his tutoring sessions? How _dare_ he distract him with pointless questions? How _dare_ he smile at him like he _knew_ him?

He didn't. He didn't know the first thing about Kurt. And the brunette intended to keep it that way.

Finally, the group turned as one to stare at Blaine. They were waiting to see how he would retaliate. Would he yell back? Would he get violent? Would he storm out?

But, to their upmost surprise, the boy simply chuckled and reclined back in his seat.

"Please, oh wise one, continue with your enlightening," he invited pleasantly.

Kurt hesitated, waiting to see if Blaine was just kidding. But when he continued to sit still, he nodded curtly in thanks and settled back down in front of his textbook. For the rest of the tutoring session, Blaine did not say one word. He just stared at Kurt from across the table, his expression blank, unreadable. Kurt did his best to ignore him. His pupils were much more responsive to his instruction now; as it turned out, as long as they were focused, they weren't half bad. They learned quickly and absorbed the knowledge he offered them. By the end of the session, Kurt could honestly say that they'd all made progress, and when he realized that he was now on first-name terms with all five of them, he only barely managed to hold in his smile. _Perhaps this tutoring thing won't be so bad after all..._

"So?"

He jumped at the voice in his ear.

"What do you want, Anderson?" he snapped, grabbing his bag and exiting the library. Blaine followed, unperturbed.

"Oh, we're on a last-name basis, then, are we?" His eyes glinted; his smile turned mischievous. "Then it seems only fair I get to know yours, Sweet Lips."

"For the last time, my name is _Kurt!_" Then, deciding that it did no harm, he added, "It's Hummel. Kurt Hummel."

Blaine grinned. All of a sudden, Kurt's path was blocked by Blaine's strong arm. "Well then, _Kurt Hummel_...What do you say we take this somewhere more private?"

Kurt actually scoffed at that. "And what precisely is 'this' you're referring to?"

Blaine moved closer. His other arm snaked around Kurt's waist. "Don't try to deny it, babe, I know you're hot for me. You don't have to keep hiding it. We both know what you want..." His mouth was an inch away from Kurt's. He leaned back as far as the wall allowed.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, Anderson, but you're not my type."

Blaine frowned and moved away a bit. He looked pissed. "Your _type_?" he growled.

Kurt nodded. The faint haze that had descended upon his brain as soon as he felt Blaine's breath against his face lifted. "That's right. So why don't you take your deluded ass somewhere else and leave me alone? Whatever you seem to think there is between us is all in your head. I just want to go home. Excuse me." And with that, he brushed passed the shorter boy and out into the Main Hall, trying to hurry for his car without seeming like it.

_What an asshole,_ he raged to himself, slamming his car door shut behind him and nearly breaking his key as he shoved it into the ignition. _Does he seriously think that I'd swoon at the knees just because he helped me out earlier? I'm not a pathetic whore. God, what a self-centered bastard...If he seriously thinks he could ever win me over like _that_, then he'd better be prepared for a large serving of failure and rejection. I'm sick of this. Why can't everybody just leave me alone already?_

And although he was mostly thinking of the hazel-eyed juvenile, there was another boy – a husky football player with large, wandering hands – that also came to mind.

…

Wes and David found Kurt the next day as he made his way to the office.

"Heard you kicked Blaine's ego in the balls yesterday," David grinned.

"Nicely done, Kurtsie, nicely done!" Wes approved, clapping him firmly on the back and making him stumble a little from the force.

"Please don't call me that," he muttered.

They pretended not to hear him. "Blaine's ruled this school ever since he got here last year," David informed him, slinging his arm around the brunette's shoulder as if they'd been best buddies forever. "Nobody's dared to talk back to him. Well, until you appeared, that is. Honestly, I was surprised he didn't break your arm for rejecting him like that."

"Nearly broke Thad's yesterday, though, when the idiot decided to ask Blaine about his _feelings_," Wes snickered.

"What feelings?" Kurt murmured before he could stop himself. The other two exchanged a look that did not go unnoticed by the young secretary. "Look, guys, I get that he's your friend and all, so I'll say this as nicely as possible..._Keep him away from me_."

Wes rubbed the back of his head thoughtfully. "Ah, well, you see, we can't really do that," he confessed.

"Blaine's...He's sort of the leader, in case you didn't pick up on that already," David explained. "If he wants something, he gets it. Even if it means breaking a few noses. That's how it's always been. He's slept with pretty much every gay guy here. They can't say no to him. Nobody can. He wants your soda, you'd better fuckin' hand over your soda."

Kurt straightened his back. "Well, that trend stops here." They raised their eyebrows at him. "He's not going to get _me_. Not now, not ever."

David seemed to study him. "You sure about that?"

Kurt stared him down. "Is that a bit of _doubt_ I see on the corner of your mouth, David? Because I'd be more than willing to _wipe it off _for you." His fist clenched.

He backed off. "No. Not at all."

"Good. Now, if you two would excuse me, I've got a job to do." Kurt nodded in parting to them and disappeared into the office, leaving the two friends to stare at each other questioningly.

"Think he's right?" Wes asked quietly.

David crossed his arms over his chest and slouched against the wall. "I think he's definitely not going to break easily, if at _all_. He's clearly got some experience with this kind of thing. I think Blaine's got his work cut out for him if he wants to try and get in _those_ pants anytime soon."

"Why? Because they're so skin-tight they were basically painted on?" Wes sniggered. David laughed with him. "But seriously, man, I think you're probably right. Kurt's strong. He may not look it, but he sure as hell isn't the type to just leap into bed with anybody, even if it _is_ someone like Blaine." Then, as an afterthought, he added, "But I still think he's gonna give in by the end of the month."

A malicious grin spread across David's face. "This is going to be fun to watch play out..."

Wes's smirk matched David's. "I'll bring the popcorn."

…

"**Tu n'as pas****à faire ça pour moi" – You didn't have to do that for me**

"**Ce sont tous des idiots" – They are all idiots**

"**Ils doivent apprendr****e ****à obéir****" – They must learn obedience**

"**Et il est clair qu'ils doivent aussi apprendre le ****_français_****. Leur grammaire est épouvantable****" – ****And clearly they must also learn ****_French_****. Their grammar is horrendous**

"**Merci Beaucoup" – Thank you very much**

"**Pourquoi avez-vous pris ce travail?" – Why did you take this job?**

**I have no idea when ch. 3 will be up. Maybe in two days, maybe two weeks ;) I'm painfully unpredictable with that sort of thing. Love me?**

**Kisses,**

**~Ripple**


	3. Chapter 3: Dreams

**I got sick yesterday for the first time in ****eight years.**** (I'm not even kidding. My immune system is a BOSS.) Mama thinks it was a combination of stress, dehydration, and exhaustion. So all of your lovely reviews made me feel ****_so_**** much better! :) Hugs and kisses to you all!**

**spiderswantmetotapdance's "fuckyouwithsass!Kurt" an****d ****SweetScarlett97****'****s "hardcore!Kurt" and Kayla Anne's "I'llsmashyourfuckingfacein!Kurt" and silverfox's "snarky!Kurt"...I love you guys. So hard.**

…

"Good afternoon, Mr. Hummel!"

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Roberts," he smiled. "Anybody I need to track down immediately, or can the punishments wait for fifth period?"

She chuckled. "Well, there is one boy Mr. Monroe would like to see as soon as possible, if you don't mind going out during their lunch..."

Kurt shrugged. "It doesn't matter to me." He dumped his bag at his desk.

"Great." She rummaged through the stacks of papers scattered across her desk until she found the collection of slips with the names of rule-breakers on them. She handed over the top one. "Most students are probably in the cafeteria right now...That's your best bet."

"Alright. Wish me luck." He turned and walked back out into the hallway. Automatically, he was ambushed by two familiar blazer-clad students.

"Oh, off to drag another innocent soul into the bowels of hell, are you?" David teased, his arm locking around Kurt's neck. The shorter boy shook him off. _Seriously, what is it with these guys and physical contact?_

"During lunch, too...Harsh," Wes mourned.

"Who's the unfortunate fucker?"

Kurt looked down at the name and groaned. _Of course. Just my luck_. "Your oh-so-fabulous 'leader.'"

They laughed. "Anderson's on a roll!" Wes cheered proudly. "This must be a dream come true for him. Here, we'll take you to him. He won't be in the caf." He grabbed Kurt's elbow and steered him down an adjacent hall, up a flight of stairs, and through a tiny passageway that definitely wasn't on the official campus map. The three of them ended up in a dormitory hallway.

David pounded on one of the doors. "Hey! Blaine! You in there?"

"Fuck off, Thompson!" the muffled voice within called. "Can't a guy get any _rest_ around here? Jesus..."

"I think you'll want to get up for this, though," Wes hollered through the door, positively beaming with delight. Clearly these two didn't get much entertainment around Dalton, if _this_ was getting them so hyped up. Kurt wondered in passing if he should bring them puzzles and trivia games to occupy themselves, before quickly shooting that idea down. They'd destroy them faster than they could play them.

There was a groan. "Unless Dickhead's decided that I'm actually a fuckin' angel and wants to apologize for all the shit he's put me through, I highly doubt it."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Blaine, would you stop wallowing in self-pity and get your ass out here already? This hallway reeks of cigarette smoke."

There was a pause, and then the door was wrenched open. Blaine stood in the doorway, hair a little more mussed than usual but otherwise the same as always, his cocky smirk appearing the second he spotted Kurt.

"Hummel," he purred, leaning against the frame and folding his arms. "What brings you to this neck of Dalton? Can't resist me any longer, huh? I knew you'd crack soon enough."

Kurt resisted the urge to knee him where it hurt. "Mr. Monroe wants to see you."

Blaine straightened up, unfazed. "Sounds like fun."

David and Wes snickered and fell into step behind them. "What'd you do this time, Anderson? Beat the crap outta someone again? Break something?"

Blaine's smirk widened, but he said nothing.

Kurt was getting a headache from these guys. He glanced over his shoulder at Wes and David and said, "Look, unless you two have any specific reason to join us – and I have no doubt you've both done something in the past twenty-four hours worth a trip to the principal's office – could you do me one huge favor and _leave?_"

Blaine chuckled, and was about to inform Kurt that their entire mission in life was to annoy people when the two followers promptly stopped in their tracks.

"Alright!" they chirped in synchrony.

"See you later, Kurt!" Wes waved.

"Bye, Blaine!" added David. The two of them whirled around and strolled casually down the corridor in the opposite direction.

Blaine's jaw very nearly hit the floor.

Kurt did not notice anything out of the ordinary. Or, more likely, he simply didn't care. Blaine studied him closely, frowning._ This guy's got David and Wes wrapped around his fuckin' finger. What the hell did he _do_ to them? They've only ever obeyed _me_ before...Goddammit he's infuriating! If he wasn't so hot I'd totally chase him out of here...Bet it wouldn't take much, either. He looks pretty skimpy. Couple hits and he'd go runnin' to his mommy._

He snorted to himself.

"Not that I particularly care about anything concerning you, but what's so amusing?" Kurt inquired, not looking at him. That pissed him off. If Kurt was going to talk to him, Blaine wanted to at least see his eyes. He had nice eyes.

_Wait, what?_

"Just thinkin' about what Monroe's gonna say this time," Blaine lied smoothly, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

"What did you do?" Kurt couldn't help but ask, not entirely sure he actually wanted to know the answer.

Blaine shrugged. "Didn't feel like doing my Chem homework. When Harrison tried to make me do it in class, I told him he could suck my dick. Apparently that's not 'classroom appropriate language.' Whatever the fuck _that_ means."

Kurt sighed and rolled his eyes. "You truly are the most vulgar, impolite, ill-mannered little twat I have _ever_ met, Blaine Anderson."

The next second, Kurt was pinned against the wall. He was not startled by this, but that didn't mean he was a willing participant to the sudden grinding. "I can _assure_ you, baby," Blaine murmured roughly, breath hot as it ghosted against Kurt's ear, "that I am anything but _little_." His body was pressed up against Kurt's, warm and strong, holding him there, leaving no chance of escape.

"Blaine, get off," Kurt ordered. He cursed himself for letting his voice waver a little. Memories he was usually so good at repressing floated to the surface. He fought them back with everything he had. Now was not the time for that.

"Come on, you know you like it." He tugged at Kurt's earlobe with his teeth, mouth slowly trailing down his jaw. He smirked triumphantly when he heard Kurt's breath hitch. "Just give in...I know you want it...I know you want me to make you feel good..."

"Blaine, I'm serious. Stop!" Kurt tried to shove him off. Blaine's hands locked around his arms, his hips rocking forward into Kurt. The taller boy gasped at the sensation. Images were flashing before his eyes. They wouldn't leave him alone. He felt nauseous.

One of Blaine's hands traveled down Kurt's chest, his fingers hooking underneath his belt. "Just relax, babe." There was a soft clink of metal as he began to undo the buckle.

Something inside Kurt shattered.

"_Get the _fuck_ off me!_"

Kurt punched Blaine for all he was worth. The shorter boy reeled backwards, more from surprise than pain, clutching his jaw. "Fuck!" he cursed. "What the hell's your problem? Shit..."

"You son of a bitch," hissed Kurt, glaring at him murderously. "I'm not a fuckin' whore, you asshole. Just- Just stay _away_ from me!"

Blaine stared after him at he stormed away. He could have easily chased after him, but he didn't. He remained standing where he was, hand still absently rubbing his jaw. He couldn't believe Kurt had _hit_ him. He didn't understand that guy at all. Not one bit. He turned on his heel and backtracked his steps towards his room, fuming, not caring that Mr. Monroe was no doubt awaiting his arrival. _That bastard can wait. I have more important things to think about than cussing out a teacher._

Namely, why seeing the hurt and panic in Kurt's eyes before he'd fled affected him to deeply.

…

"_Blaine...We- We shouldn't..."_

"_Sssh," he whispered, kissing down his smooth, pale chest. "It's alright...Nobody will catch us in here."_

"_But Blaine, I-" Kurt's protest died out into a moan as Blaine began to palm him through his jeans. "God that feels good." He entwined his hands into Blaine's curls and yanked him up for a fierce kiss, their tongues fighting for dominance. Blaine smirked against his mouth, hands trailing down his bare sides, loving it when Kurt shivered beneath him and pressed up against him. He could feel how hard he was even through his jeans._

"_Blaine, please," Kurt breathed. "I need you..."_

_Blaine unbuttoned his pants with a practiced flick, pulling down the zipper tantalizingly slowly. Kurt groaned, squirming desperately beneath him, nails raking down Blaine's back. "Blaine! Fuck, don't tease me like this!"_

_He chuckled, pressing his lips to Kurt's throat. "Patience, Kurt. You'll get what you want if you behave..."_

_Reveling in the sounds Kurt was making, he hooked his fingers around the hem of his jeans and at last, at long last, pulled them-_

"Blaine! Blaine, dude, get your ass out of bed. It's time for class."

Blaine's eyes flew open. Kurt disappeared. Blaine was left alone in his bed, face buried in his pillow, blankets strewn across his legs, arms sprawled over his mattress. He swore loudly and without shame. He'd never wanted to kill somebody as much as he wanted to kill David right then. Just ten more seconds of sleep and he would have been a very happy man.

_I can't even get into Kurt's pants in my _dreams_ for fuck's sake!_

…

**Do you think Blaine or Kurt would top? I'm wondering what you guys think. Let me know in the reviews! :D**

**Also...*peeks out from under desk* This was the smuttiest I've ever gotten with my writing to date! And they haven't even ****_done_**** anything yet...Lol so how'd I do?**

**If you follow me on Tumblr (rippleklainebagels) you'll get a little sneak peek into chapter 4 within the next few days ;)**

**Kisses,**

**~Ripple**


	4. Chapter 4: Apple

**Thanks for all the well-wishes, guys! :)**

**Wow, some of you are really passionate about who you want to see top! Lol I actually already knew what I want to happen. I just wanted to know your opinions. I hope you guys approve of it...It's not anytime soon (I love to torture you, ****_obviously_****) but when it does come around, I think most of you will be pleased with the end result. :) That's all I'm going to say on that topic.**

**Also- silverfox, you are amazing! :D I love you to pieces! My subconscious Yelah and I both read and squeal over your reviews! Well, Yelah reads them. I squeal. It's embarrassing when we're in public. But hey, at least I'm not at a bus stop ;) You're right, it ****_is_**** kinda like a collab with everyone! Lol I guess I'm just *flicks hair* such a people-pleaser that way...**

**Last thing: My thanks to captindonavin for reviewing ****_everything_****! You rock my fluffy Christmas socks.**

…

When Kurt got to work on Friday, a shiny red apple awaited him on his desk. He slowed to a stop and stared at it.

"It was there when I got back from my lunch break," Mrs. Roberts informed him cheerfully, rustling through her desk drawers in search of something. "Seems like you've got yourself a secret admirer, sweetie!"

The boy scoffed and sat down, dropping his bag next to his chair and moving the fruit aside. "I doubt it, Mrs. Roberts. I highly doubt it."

She smiled and let it go, but did not look convinced. After a moment more of rummaging, she finally sighed and asked, "Kurt, sweetheart, have you seen my glasses anywhere?"

Not even looking up from his textbook, he gestured to his own collar and said, "They're around your neck, Mrs. Roberts."

She looked down at the spectacles dangling from their chain. "Oh!"

…

Kurt paused outside Ms. Brown's room and sighed. He hated tracking boys down this far from the office. But he had no choice. So he pushed open the door and stepped inside, already used to the way everyone's eyes flickered to him and the stifling silence that befell the class.

"What do you want?" the crone of a teacher snapped, glaring at the intrusion as if he had just interrupted the most important speech in all of history. _It's not like anybody is paying attention to your lecture anyway_, Kurt wanted to say. But he held his tongue. He was nothing if not respectful to teachers.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to steal Kevork for a bit." He scanned the room for the newest victim. Instead, his eyes fell upon a familiar smirking face, and his stomach dropped. Blaine's smile widened. He winked. Kurt quickly looked away.

The teacher glowered at him. "Kevork _who_?"

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. How many Kevorks could there _be_ in that room? "Ma'am, I would personally offend everyone of Armenian descent if I tried to pronounce that surname."

The room broke into laughter. A dark boy near the front got to his feet, shoved his hands into his pockets, and stalked out. Kurt sighed, accidentally caught Blaine's eye, and followed Kevork out, willing his heartbeat to calm down.

He'd almost made it to the end of the hallway when he heard his name being called from behind. He knew who it was before he even turned, but that did not stop his heart from fluttering at the sight of Blaine running towards him. He hated it.

"Kevork, go on," Blaine ordered, not even looking at the tall Armenian. Kevork frowned, glanced to Kurt, then shrugged and continued heading towards the office alone. Kurt desperately wanted to join him. But he knew that Blaine wouldn't give in that easily; he'd no doubt follow him all the way back to the office. So with a resigned sigh, Kurt focused on the boy in front of him and did his best not to let anything he might say get to him.

"So, Hummel, you find my apple?"

Kurt did not let his surprise show on his face. "_You_ left that?" Such a thoughtful gesture did not seem consistent with the Blaine he'd come to know and despise. He instantly grew suspicious. "Why?"

Blaine laughed. "Don't worry, I didn't poison it or some shit like that. I'm not _that_ much of a dick. Just thought that..." He suddenly looked uncomfortable. His hands became fists in his pockets and his eyes dropped to the floor. "I don't know, I guess I just wanted to make sure you weren't still upset. About...About yesterday." He glanced up to gauge Kurt's reaction, and Kurt was taken aback by the look in those hazel eyes. They were softer, brighter. "A guy as hot as you shouldn't be upset."

Kurt snorted. In a strange, twisted way, Blaine had just apologized to him. Sort of. And even though his logic told him not to accept it, the larger part of his mind was willing to let it slide.

"Kiss-ass."

Blaine's devilish smile returned. "I'm hoping to, yeah..."

Kurt rolled his eyes and sashayed away, not surprised when he heard Blaine's footsteps following him. "Shouldn't you be getting back to class, Anderson? I've got a job to do." There was a small, almost imperceptible part of him that did not mind his presence, though. He chalked it up to the lack of attention everybody else in his life seemed to be giving him lately. At least Blaine seemed genuinely interested in Kurt. Even if it _was_ purely physical. It was something, at least.

Blaine drew up next to him. "Nobody gives a second fuck about us around here," he assured.

Kurt frowned scoldingly at him, thinking of Madame Abel. She seemed like she honestly wanted to teach her students something. The boys were the problem. Not her. The implication made Kurt want to hit him again.

Speaking of which-

"Hey...How's your face?"

Blaine's fingers immediately flew to his jaw, where Kurt could see the undeniable shadow of a bruise forming. He couldn't decide if he felt more guilty or proud.

"You don't pack much of a punch, Hummel. I'm fine."

_Yep. Definitely not guilty._

…

Blaine Anderson was smart. Possibly the smartest guy in his grade, save maybe Wes. But he was more than willing to let his French grade plummet. It meant that, soon enough, Madame Abel would pull him aside and insist that he join one of Kurt's tutoring sessions. But until then – it wasn't like he could fall from an A to a D overnight, after all – he would just have to continue to find different ways to run into him. Every day, he became more imaginative with his methods – feigning illness in order to wander by the office on the way to the nurse, volunteering to run errands for Ms. Brown in the hopes of passing Kurt in the hall, 'forgetting' to turn in his French homework during third period so that he could instead bring it to her during sixth. He only ever managed to catch a moment or two alone with Kurt, but each and every time he felt absurdly accomplished.

Of course, Kurt was still resolutely rejecting his advances. He brushed off Blaine's hands, responded to his compliments with snarky retorts, and in general seemed to do everything in his power to drive Blaine absolutely bat-shit crazy. And he was _damn_ good at it, too.

Blaine didn't know why he kept trying. He told himself that it was simply because he liked a challenge, and wanted to get into those tauntingly skintight jeans. But after a particularly cruel comeback, or a sharp slap of retaliation when Blaine's hands wandered too low, he would wonder if Kurt was really worth all the trouble. He could easily get another guy to sleep with him with less than _half_ the effort he was spending on Kurt.

But he wanted _Kurt_.

He wanted to be able to touch him, and make him feel good, and hear his own name whispered in that angelic voice. He wanted to see him, _all_ of him. He wanted to encase himself in those thin, pale arms. He wanted to know what those pink, sassy lips felt like against his own. And if that made him a softy, then fuck it. He was going to get what he wanted if it killed him.

Another week passed. Blaine's French grade went up in flames. But slowly, ever so slowly, Kurt seemed to be warming to him. On Wednesday, he did not flinch or jerk away when Blaine put a hand on his elbow to guide him around a group of rowdy freshmen. On Thursday, he even nodded at Blaine when he caught his eye in the library during Blaine's friends' tutoring session.

Blaine called that progress.

…

There was a new kid at school the following Monday. It didn't raise nearly as much attention as Kurt's arrival had. Kids came and went all the time at Dalton; new juveniles coming in, 'reformed' students going out. Blaine only tuned into the conversation when he heard Kurt's name.

"Wait, what did you just say?"

They paused. The six of them – Nick, Jeff, Wes, David, Blaine, and Thad – were sitting in the second floor common room near the fire, trying to ignore the other students making a racket around them. It was lunchtime; it really shouldn't have been that crowded.

"I was just saying that the new guy's from McKinley. Kurt's school," David shrugged.

"Think they know each other?" wondered Jeff.

"I doubt it," Wes mused, absently flipping through the latest copy of Westerville's newspaper. "Kurt doesn't seem like the type to hang out with misfits."

"He hangs out here every day," Jeff pointed out.

Wes pinned him with an _are-you-stupid?_ gaze over the top of the paper. "He _works_ here, dimwit. It's not like he comes to chill here because he thought we'd be nice company to keep. Shit, he probably secretly hates us all with a fiery passion."

Blaine glowered at him. He did not like the idea of Kurt hating him. Even if it _was_ true. "Wes, shut the fuck up."

Wes sullenly did as he was told.

Blaine checked his phone. Kurt was due to arrive any minute now. He got up to go meet him at the front doors – as was a pattern with them now, even if Kurt told him everyday not to bother – but before he could leave, Nick and Jeff both winked knowingly at him. He paused. "What?"

"No, nothing," they sang innocently.

Blaine kicked Nick's shin as he passed. He hated it when they did that. Acted all couple-y and in-sync with one another. It made his stomach churn. But it wasn't jealousy. Definitely not. Blaine Anderson was jealous of nobody. Everybody _else_ was jealous of Blaine Anderson. That was how it worked at Dalton.

But then he arrived at the Main Hall, and suddenly he could come up with no other word to describe the burning rage in his chest when he spotted Kurt in another boy's arms. He didn't have the time to figure out why it pissed him off. All he knew was that there was nothing he wanted more than to tear the bastard's arms off and take his place and _for the love of all that's unholy get your fuckin' arms off of him before I break your goddamn balls-!_

"I was right!"

Blaine jumped. He had not heard Wes and David come up behind him. If he'd been in any sort of normal state of mind, he would have hit them both for sneaking up on him. But as it was, all he could do was glare daggers at the back of that dipshit's head and hope that they pierced his skull and made him leave. The two of them were talking down there, but Blaine was too far away to hear them. Kurt looked disapproving, but curious.

"Kurt _does_ know the new kid!" David continued. Wes swore and handed over a crumpled ten. David pocketed it with a grin before calling out, "Hey, Kurt! This your friend?"

Kurt turned to look over at the three of them. "Hey, guys. This is- Well, I _guess_ you could call him a friend. More of an acquaintance." He forced the taller boy to turn and face them as well. He was tan, with a dark mohawk and strong jaw. Blaine hated him. Hated him more than he'd ever hated another person. Which was really saying something.

"Guys, meet Noah Puckerman."

…

**Puck. Puck's here. Puck's at Dalton. Puck's talking to Kurt. Puck has angered the residential badass. There should be a badass-off between them! YEAH! :D (Sometimes I wonder if I should review my own stories...Oy vey)**

**Excuse me while I go run around my neighborhood in my pajamas. Why? BECAUSE I JUST GOT MY ACCEPTANCE LETTER INTO COLLEGE! Even got an academic scholarship...*pats self on back* Ohio, here I come...**

**The first thing I'm going to do when I get there is find a coffee shop to become a regular at. And then order the same thing every time. And then fall in love there. (Shut up it will happen don't ruin my dreams)**

**Kisses,**

**~Ripple**


	5. Chapter 5: Fight

**I swore to myself I'd get the next chapter up before Christmas. Self-imposed deadlines tend to work best for me. ;) Happy holidays, everyone! Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Jolly Kwanzaa, Splendid Winter (for those of you that don't celebrate anything) :D I love you all (rein)deerly.**

**Oh god I can hear the Pun Police coming for me...**

…

Puck and Kurt's relationship baffled the students of Dalton. Within his first four days at the reform school, Puck had been sent to the office five times for different offenses. He was short-tempered, extremely rude, and did not seem to care who didn't like him. In fact, he seemed to prefer it when people _disliked_ him. Avoided him. Feared him.

But with Kurt, it was different.

With Kurt, he was friendly, jovial. With Kurt, he opened doors for him and smiled and laughed and let him call him 'Noah' (a special case that an unfortunate wophomore learned the hard way when he called Puck 'Noah' and suddenly found himself dangling head-first out the third-story window, earning Puck yet another trip down to Mr. Monroe). With Kurt, he obeyed without question. With Kurt, he did not yell at him or argue or hit him, apart from the occasional light punch on the arm. With Kurt, he was willing to talk – sometimes for long periods – about people from McKinley they both knew. But not with anybody else. It was utterly bemusing.

And it pissed Blaine off to no end.

"Hey, look, it's Mr. Hotshot," Wes hissed in Blaine's ear.

David groaned. "Shit. Let's take a different route."

Even though Wes was behind Blaine, he could still tell that the Asian was rolling his eyes. "Oh my god, grow a dick already! He's just another student."

"Like fuck he is!" David denied hotly. "He could totally-"

"Both of you. Shut the hell up before I shove my fist so far down your throats you feel it in your pancreas."

Wes and David immediately fell silent. Blaine continued to lead them on, approaching Puck, who was leaning against the railing at the bottom of a stairwell and talking with Firehead Henry. Blaine saw him flex his biceps at something the redhead said. Firehead Henry drew back a little bit.

"So Mohawk. What's your deal?"

Puck turned to Blaine, eyes cold, arms folded. "What did you say, Hobbit?"

Blaine crossed his own arms. David immediately scampered off to the side, not willing to be caught in the brewing fight. Wes joined him. They were confident in Blaine, but they valued their lives too much to get involved.

"Oh I'm sorry, does the excessive amount of air in your head impair your hearing?" Blaine retorted cooly.

Puck's eyes narrowed. "What the fuck is your problem, dude? You want a fight?"

"Perhaps I do."

David moaned and buried his face in his hands. "This is _not_ going to end well," he muttered to Wes, who only nodded, eyes transfixed on the two boys facing off in the middle of the hallway, rapidly drawing a crowd. Blaine, the top dog at Dalton, versus Puck, the newest troublemaker on the scene. When it came to entertainment, this was better than daytime soap operas.

Puck stepped forward. They now stood about three feet apart. Puck was taller, but Blaine did not seem perturbed.

"You're that Anderson kid, right?" Puck drawled. "Thinks he's all that? Runs the school? Creeps on my homeboy Hummel?"

Blaine tensed. He hated hearing Kurt's name coming from this asshole. "What's your deal?" he asked again. "What makes you think you can just strut in here and take over, huh? Think just because you were hot shit at your old school it'll be the same here? Well I've got news for you, Puckerman: I rule this place. You'd better stop pissing me off."

"And what exactly did I _do_, your Great Badassness?" Puck's sarcasm was biting and thick. The spectators stirred.

Blaine glowered. "Stay away from Kurt, you meat-headed _prick_. I get that you went to the same school. But your whole favoritism act? Treating him like he's your fucking little brother? I'm not buying it."

Puck shook his head, as if trying to comprehend what Blaine was saying. Then, of all things, he barked out a laugh. "Holy shit, Anderson! You're _jealous_!"

Blaine's jaw quite nearly dropped. "What the fuck are you smoking?"

"You are! Oh jesus, this is priceless! You're jealous that Kurt doesn't push me away like he does to you, so you're trying to take out your frustration on me." He laughed again. "Well shit, bro, you could have just _said_-"

And then fists were flying. Cheers went up in the onlookers, and David and Wes instantly began taking bets. Puck was bigger and stronger, but Blaine was more agile and knew the weak points of the human body. In all honesty, they were about evenly matched. Each blow was returned, the force of each punch equivalent in damage.

"Noah! Blaine! _Stop_ it!"

…

Kurt had become very good at spotting fights from a distance. Usually that meant he could run and fetch Mr. Dickenson or Mr. Monroe without ever having to get involved. This time, however, he ran towards it, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach. The two guys fighting were the two guys he _least_ wanted to see fight. Puck, because in some twisted sense he was his friend, and he didn't want to have to report him; and Blaine, because...

Kurt did not know why he didn't want Blaine to fight.

"Move!" he commanded, pushing and shoving blindly through the crowd until he reached the two students wrestling it out in the middle of the second floor corridor. "_Both_ of you, cut it out already!"

Puck glanced over his shoulder at him. Blaine used this break in focus to kick him squarely in the stomach. Kurt heard Puck grunt as the air left him, and was about to shout at Blaine again when he felt Puck slam into his chest and knock him off his feet. He was thrown backwards into the cold, hard wall, crushed under Puck's massive weight. He felt his elbow smash against the unyielding surface. He might have cried out; he couldn't be sure. Next thing he knew, he was on the very solid marble floor, elbow throbbing, wind knocked out of him, arms folded painfully beneath him as he was flattened beneath Puck.

Memories flashed in front of his eyes. The closet. Getting shoved against the door. Feeling the knob dig into his spine. The hot breath on his neck. The pressure against his groin. The hands, everywhere. Everywhere. _Get off. Stop it. Stop it!_

"_Shit_," Puck breathed, rolling off him, gently unfolding Kurt so he could get a better look at him, to analyze the damage. The onlookers had gone dead silent. Everyone's eyes were on them. "Kurt...Fuck, Kurt, are you alright?"

Kurt opened his eyes. He had not realized they'd been closed. He tried to speak, to tell everyone to get away from him, but it felt like there was no air in his lungs to breathe. His eyes roamed, found Puck's, then Blaine's. He moved to sit up, to run, but his elbow pushed against the floor and he winced, collapsing back down, clutching at it, willing the pain to die off. He wondered in passing if it might be dislocated. _Can you even dislocate an elbow? I have no idea. It just hurts so bad..._He squeezed his eyes tight again and took a deep breath to keep from crying when he remembered how much pain he'd been in before Puck got him to the nurse. _Don't have a panic attack. Not here, not now. Breathe. Breathe._ But he could still feel the fingernails digging into his arms, feel the teeth marking his skin, feel the cold air rushing to hit his naked body.

"Kurt?" Puck said again, louder, a little frantic when Kurt did not respond. He grabbed Kurt's good arm and forced him to let go of his elbow so he could take a look at it himself. He was no doubt an expertise in broken bones, after all. There was a pause. Kurt groaned, trying to tell him to let go, but words still escaped him. _Just leave me alone. Everybody. Stop touching me. Please. Get away. Let go of me._ "Oh crap..."

"Noah," he managed in a whisper. "Noah, I don't- I can't..."

He shut his eyes still tighter, but it did no good. The sound of ripping fabric filled his ears. The bruising fingers were still upon him. He was drowning in the musty smell. _Get off. Get away. Stop it. Stop it! Please!_

"Fuck, Kurt, are you okay?" Blaine's voice broke through his daze. He sounded close, but Kurt couldn't be too sure. "Kurt...Shit, shit, shit! Wes, get the nurse-"

"Back the fuck off, Anderson!" Puck roared. His voice chased away the lingering growl Kurt's memory was conjuring against his will."He doesn't need a fucking nurse, he needs you to leave him alone! Jesus christ, he's had it hard enough at McKinley! He doesn't need this here, too!"

"Noah," Kurt whimpered again, trying to make him shut up, trying to make him stop. He didn't want anybody to know. He couldn't let it get around. Not now. Not ever. He reached out and blindly latched his hand onto Puck's sleeve. The taller boy understood.

"Come on, Hummel. Let's go."

Kurt finally opened his eyes again. He was breathing raggedly. His busted elbow was being cradled in his opposite hand, close to his chest. Puck effortlessly scooped him up in his strong arms and began to speed-walk away down the hall, the sea of students parting for him without protest. Kurt wanted to insist that Puck let him down, but he couldn't find it in himself to talk. He trusted Puck. Or at least as much as he _could_ trust a boy in reform school. Which wasn't actually all that much. But at least he knew that Puck would look out for him. That was more than he got at McKinley.

Puck found a secluded nook overlooking the football field and sat Kurt down on the cushioned ledge. He then plunked himself down beside him, careful to make sure their bodies no longer touched.

"You alright?" he muttered.

"Fine," Kurt breathed, curling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. "Probably just a bruise...I've had worse."

"You were- You thought about _him_, didn't you." It was not a question. Puck knew. Puck was the only one who knew.

Kurt closed his eyes, rested his chin on his knees. He was tired. Finished. "Yes."

Puck was quiet for a moment. "Do you want to...I don't know, talk about it?"

Kurt sighed and shook his head. He was grateful to Puck for trying, but he couldn't help. Nobody could. "I'm fine, Puck. Drop it. I just- I slipped up. I let myself remember. It won't happen again."

Puck did not look convinced. Neither did Kurt.

…

The talk around campus that evening was the fight between Blaine and Puck, or more specifically what happened when Kurt arrived. Nobody had ever seen Blaine actually stop a fight just because somebody else interfered. And as soon as Puck had hurried the thin boy away, Blaine had snarled for the crowd to disperse – which it did in record time – and stormed off to his room without another word. Nick and Jeff briefly tried to coax him out, but he threatened to break their ankles, so they decided it wasn't worth it and left him alone.

That was where Puck found him after dinner.

"Hey. Anderson. Let me in. We need to talk."

Puck heard Blaine swear, but the lock clicked, and the door swung in. "What the fuck do you want, Puckerman?" he spat.

Puck put a hand in the middle of the door to make sure it was not slammed back in his face. "It's about Kurt."

Those were the magic words. Blaine whirled around, still looking murderous, but allowed Puck to enter. The mohawked boy closed the door behind him and flopped down into Blaine's desk chair, while the shorter boy slouched against the wall on his bed.

"What about him?"

Puck looked him dead in the eye. "What do you know about him already?"

Blaine's eyes narrowed. _He has the finest ass in the world. He hates being touched. He has a sharp tongue and a big attitude that could rival even mine. Not that I'd ever tell anyone that._ "What's it to you?"

"Do you have any idea what he's been through? What he's _going_ through? He keeps quiet about it all and he thinks nobody knows, but I can see what it's doing to him, and what _you're_ doing to him."

"What the fuck are you spewing, Puckerman?" Although he would never admit it, he was curious. It was possible that Puck would be willing to share a bit about Kurt's mysterious backstory.

Puck shook his head. "It ain't my shit to tell, man. But...If you're going to keep stalkin' him like this, you'd better know just what it's doing to him." He glared daggers at Blaine to let him know how serious he was. "Kurt's a good guy, Anderson. Real good. And he's gone through way more crap than he should have, and he's _still_ going through it, but he's too goddamn _good_ to complain about it. He refuses to accept help and he refuses to let anybody know what's going on."

"You're acting like a goddamn cryptic," Blaine pointed out sullenly.

Puck sighed. "Kurt's...He has a history with a few guys on McKinley's football team. They- They don't like that he's gay. And there's this one bastard in particular..." His jaw tightened. "Kurt's made me swear not to tell anyone what I saw. But...I can see how you look at him, dude. I know you're interested. And I swear to god, if you hurt him any more than he's already been hurt, I _will_ kill you."

Blaine said nothing.

"You don't seem like the type to just back off when asked to." Blaine smirked in confirmation. "Thought so. So I won't threaten you and tell you to leave Kurt alone, even though that would probably be best for him. I'll just leave it in Kurt's hands. But...Dude, just- just _think_ about what you're doing to him. Alright? Haven't you noticed how he flinches when you touch him?"

Blaine looked away. "He- He's been assaulted before. Hasn't he?"

Puck ran a hand over his mohawk. "I can't tell you without breaking my promise to Kurt." Which meant _yes_. "What's your intentions towards him? You just wanna fuck him like a prison bitch and then drop him? Because I'm telling you right now, screwing with his emotions like that would very likely kill him. Literally."

Blaine glowered at him. Then he dropped his gaze to his own feet and murmured, "I...I don't know what I want anymore. I _thought_ I just wanted to lay him and leave him. But now..." He ran a hand through his curls and sighed in frustration. "I just don't know! He's- He's different. Y'know? Special."

Puck grinned. "Oh trust me, I know. He's got the pipes a fuckin' _angel_, too." At Blaine's bemused frown, he explained, "Used to be on glee club. Quit a couple weeks before he started working here."

"Why?"

Puck's muscles in his arms tensed. "That was when...Fuck, I'm not allowed to say."

But Blaine understood enough. He nodded absently. "You mind getting the hell out of my room, now?"

Puck stood. "Be careful with him, bro. That's all I ask. Kurt's helped me through a lot of shit in the past, kept me grounded, tried to keep me out of trouble as best he could. I'd be more than willing to go all Jackie Chan on anyone's ass who tries to mess with him."

"I get it, I get it!" Blaine snapped. "Don't fuck with Kurt. Check. Noted. Now leave!"

Puck nodded once. Just as he reached the door and twisted the handle, he glanced back and added with a tiny half-smile, "You know, you're not as bad as I expected. Maybe Kurt's actually doing you some good...He does that, y'know. Spreads goodness everywhere he goes. I swear he's a goddamn saint or something..." Shaking his head and chuckling, Puck departed.

Blaine's shoe soared across the room and smashed into the bookshelf.

_What do I do now?_

…

**Three cheers for bigbrother!Puck :D He knows what's what. (In the butt. Oh, did ****_I_**** say that? Oops.) In the next chapter, Kurt and Blaine are finally going to have a legitimate conversation. Le gasp! And we're gonna learn a bit more about all these memories...Happy holidays, y'all!**

**Kisses,**

**~Ripple**


	6. Chapter 6: Tearoom

**If you follow me on Tumblr (rippleklainebagels) you'll know already that this update was a little delayed due to a house fire and very narrow streets and a dashing young fireman...But hey, it's here now, so just enjoy! :D**

**Happy New Year, everyone! See you all in 2012. :) May it be a wonderful year for Klainers and Gleeks around the world...**

**Oh, and silverfox, I hope your life has settled down a bit! :) Did you bring the popcorn? Because I definitely brought the Blaine, Puck, and Kurt drama. Where be my payment, yo? *holds out hand expectantly* Glad you're likin' the Puck twist! He may act all badass but we all know he's actually a big softy ;)**

…

Kurt was late.

Kurt had _never_ been late, ever since he started working at Dalton.

The first two minutes, Blaine chalked it up to Friday afternoon lunch traffic. Then two minutes turned into ten. Lunch would be ending soon. He became anxious, irritated. He hated waiting, but more than that, he hated the worry that clawed at his insides. His mind ran through every possible scenario that could have made the usually-punctual secretary late, ranging from a make-up test to a car crash.

_Where is he?_

At last, five minutes before the end of lunch, the front doors opened. Blaine – whose mind had just arrived at 'he quit without warning' – allowed himself a moment of relief. Wes and David chuckled. The three of them had been relaxing at the foot of the stairwell to the Main Hall, nibbling on chips and tripping a couple of the more annoying-looking freshmen. David and Wes knew full well what was making Blaine impatient, but they also knew better than to say it aloud. They preferred their kneecaps unbroken, after all.

But as Blaine stood, tossing his remaining Doritos to David, he realized that Kurt was different. And not in a good way.

His brunette hair was falling out of place, his green-blue eyes empty and hollow, his skin even paler than normal. His outfit – skinny jeans, white Docs, a silver long-sleeved shirt and a sleeveless deep-v-neck hoodie – seemed a little mussed, and his grip on his satchel seemed a little too tight. There was something frantic about him, something akin to fear. Blaine knew that look far too well. He'd ignited it in countless others to recognize it.

And then he saw the red mark.

"Jesus, Legs, what happened to you?" he demanded, jogging to intercept him as the boy hurried towards the office.

"Leave me alone, Anderson," Kurt practically growled. "I'm late for work."

"Yeah, I noticed. Okay, okay, just _hold_ up." Blaine grabbed his arm to stop him. Kurt gasped and wrenched himself free, leaping away from Blaine as if he'd just been electrocuted. Blaine paused. _What _happened_ to him? He's never been _this_ jumpy before..._

Of course, he knew what had happened. He wasn't an idiot. Judging from what Puck had told him the night previous, and from the look of that cut over his left eye, Kurt's source of delay had not been traffic, or a talk with a teacher.

"Wes, David. Leave."

The two boys in question exchanged a bemused glance before shrugging and waving goodbye to Kurt. Kurt could not even bring himself to smile back at them.

"Come on," Blaine urged, much more gently this time. "Mrs. Roberts can live for another five minutes without you. Let's go."

Kurt did not protest this time as Blaine led him up the stairs to the third floor. He did not have the energy to. He hardly computed where they were headed until he suddenly found himself in Dalton's tearoom, probably the most unused room in the entire school. Large glass windows overlooked the courtyard and parking lot below. Sunlight streamed in, illuminating the small tables scattered around the room, clearly meant for quiet studying and socializing.

Blaine pulled out a chair at one of the tables, clearly intending for Kurt to sit there, before crossing to the coffee-maker in the corner of the room. Kurt collapsed into the seat, dropped his bag, and closed his eyes. He was exhausted. He just wanted this week to be over with already. He wanted to forget everything and go home and curl up in his bed and _disappear_.

"Want to talk about it?"

He opened his eyes. Blaine was seated across from him, hands wrapped around a steaming cup of black coffee, gazing at him with an unnerving understanding in those bright hazel eyes. There was a second cup in front of Kurt, and he reached for it gratefully, not answering until he'd swallowed his scalding mouthful.

"This coffee is a sin against humanity."

Blaine chuckled. "What else would you expect at a reform school?"

Kurt's fingertip traced the rip of his cup for a few seconds. "There's a pretty good place back in Lima. You should try it sometime. They've got really good biscotti."

Blaine nodded. He knew that Kurt was deflecting, but he let him do it. "I'll keep that in mind. We're normally on lock-down here, but once a month, if we're good, we get a free day." He smirked and confessed, "I haven't had a free day in over a year now."

Kurt took another drink just for something to do. There was something so surreal about sitting down and having _coffee_ with Blaine Anderson of all people.

"Need to get Nurse James to look at that for you?"

Kurt's eyes widened, and his hand immediately flew to cover up the cut on his left temple. The skin was still tender. There would definitely be a bruise. _Perfect. It can match the one on my elbow. God, could this week get any worse?_ "I- No, it's nothing. I'm fine." He dropped his hand again, looked away. "I just...tripped."

"Tripped?"

"Yes. Tripped."

"And your face decided to have an intimate relationship with the pavement?"

Kurt glowered at him, but Blaine was smiling, and there was a faint twinkle in his eye Kurt had never seen before, and it was that strange brightness that kept Kurt from exploding. It was nice, in a way. Almost...friendly?

"It was...a locker." He stared into his coffee cup, unwilling to look at Blaine. "I hit one of the vents the wrong way."

_Is there a right way to hit a locker vent?_ Blaine wanted to ask, but he held his tongue for probably the first time in his life. Instead, he did his best not to crush his paper cup between his hands as he asked, "Who did it?"

Kurt opened mouth, clearly about to answer, but something stopped him, and he drowned the name with his bitter instant coffee. He wasn't sure he could say it without breaking down and telling Blaine far too much. It was too dangerous. He couldn't know; Kurt couldn't tell him. Couldn't tell anyone.

"Was it one of those football players?"

Kurt's entire body tensed. He nearly spat out his coffee. "Wh- What makes you say that?"

Blaine saw the frantic look in the brunette's eyes and had the sudden urge to reach across the table and take his hand, to comfort him._ Snap out of it, Anderson._ "Puck had a little _chat_ with me last night. Told me you've been having some issues with the assholes on the football team at McKinley." He shrugged, hoping it looked reassuring. "Didn't give me any specifics, the dickwad, but he did say that you weren't somebody to fuck around with. But I think..." He swirled the coffee around in his cup, steeling himself to say what was on his mind. "I think you're stronger than he makes you out to be."

When he finally looked back up at Kurt, he saw a watery smile on his face.

"Noah is...He tries. He really does. He just has no concept of right and wrong," Kurt chuckled fondly, shaking his head the way a father might shake his head at his son's antics. "He...He witnessed something that didn't put me in a very _strong_ light. Now he's decided that I'm _delicate_ and need to be protected."

Blaine was quiet for a moment, wondering just how far he could push his boundaries. This was the first time they'd ever had an actual conversation, after all. Their relationship was undefinable at the moment. In the end, he decided to just go for it, though. _What do I have to lose?_ "You get bullied. At McKinley. Am I right?"

Kurt actually snorted at that. "Bullied...Sounds so childish. Yes. Yes, I'm bullied. For my sexuality. For my voice. For my clothing." He did not seem perturbed by that confession, however. He continued, ticking the forms of harassment off on his fingers. "I get shoved into the lockers, I get slushies thrown in my face, I get barricaded into the girls bathroom, I get graffiti on my locker, I get called every insulting name under the rainbow, I get chairs pulled out from under me, I get spitballs thrown at my neck, I get-"

"Okay!" Blaine cut in. "I get it. You're bullied." He felt a little sick. _He_ had done all of those things before at one time or another.

Kurt studied him with an almost pitying expression. "Blaine...Being bullied has become such an expected, daily occurrence for me that I hardly even notice anymore. I can wrap Ace bandage better than I can sharpen a pencil."

"But- Today, when you came late...And- And your head..."

Kurt's eyes flickered upwards, even though he couldn't actually see the cut on his forehead. "I wasn't upset because I got pushed into a locker, Blaine."

"Then why-?"

"I was upset because of _who_ pushed me into a locker."

Blaine's frown deepened. Before he could ask, though, Kurt spoke again, his voice suddenly strong, back to the same old Kurt Blaine met that first day nearly a month ago. Confident. Sassy. Unfazed.

"Look, let's just not talk about it, okay? I have to get to work, and you're fifth period is going to start any second now." He stood. Blaine reluctantly followed suit. They tossed the final dregs of their coffee in the trash as they left the tearoom. "Try not to get into another fight this afternoon, okay? I'm not particularly in the mood to break you imbeciles up again."

Blaine chuckled. "I _suppose_ I can put my efforts into something slightly more constructive for the next few hours...Maybe I could even pay attention in class! Always good to try new things, or some crap like that, right?"

Kurt held a hand up to his mouth to hide his laughter. It was a beautiful noise. Blaine found himself wishing he could hear it more often.

He didn't realize until five minutes later, when he'd walked Kurt to the office and made his way to Ms. Brown's class, that it had been the first conversation he'd ever had with Kurt without slipping in any sexual innuendos or suggestive comments. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. In a way, he hated Kurt for affecting him so much. It had been ages since he'd wanted something from a guy _other_ than sex.

All he wanted from Kurt was a smile. Just a true, genuine smile.

But somehow, what with whatever was going on over at McKinley, Blaine doubted he'd see one anytime soon.

…

After six period, Blaine made his way to the library, where he knew Kurt would be tutoring Firehead Henry's group of French flunks. He knew that his own grade had sunk well below passing by now, and any day Madame Abel would have to assign him to a tutoring session. In the meantime, he was perfectly content with watching Kurt from afar. There was something irresistible about Kurt when he got passionate about teaching; there was an irrefutable fire in his eyes that forced kids to listen to him and absorb what he was telling them. It was like involuntary learning.

"Hey, Anderson!"

He paused. "Puckerman. What's up?"

Puck grinned at him as he slowed to a stop beside him. They bumped fists in greeting. A passing junior stared at them in utter bafflement before whipping out his cell phone. Last time anybody had checked, these two guys were at each other's throats. Now they were friends? This was important gossip. "Have you seen Kurt?"

"He's in the library. He tutors guys in French."

Puck's jaw dropped, and then he laughed. "I shouldn't be surprised...You one of his students, then?"

"Not yet, no." He winked. "I'm working on it, though."

Puck punched his shoulder, not unkindly, and together they made their way to the library, where, sure enough, Kurt was beginning his review of that day's lesson. Kurt glanced over, saw them approaching, and gave a nod of acknowledgement.

"Oh what the _hell_...?"

Blaine turned to ask Puck what was wrong, but before he could even open his mouth, the taller boy was barreling forward, spinning Kurt to face him properly. And Blaine knew at once what had set Puck off.

The cut.

"Kurt, what the fuck happened to you?" he demanded.

"Noah, get off!" Kurt snapped, startled. "I'm in the middle of a-"

"Everyone leave. Now!" Puck glared daggers around the table. Blaine drew up behind him and added his own wordless threat, and that did it. The group of boys hightailed it out of there like rabbits fleeing from a pack of wolves. Puck turned back to Kurt. "Kurt, seriously, what happened?"

"It's nothing," Kurt insisted, trailing the scabbing scratch across his temple with his fingertips. "Just had a little run-in earlier. I'm fine-"

"With a locker?"

Kurt sighed, resigned. "Yes, with a locker."

"Was it him?" Puck's whisper was deadly. "Was it Karof-"

Kurt smacked a hand over his mouth, his wild eyes flickering over to Blaine, terrified. "_Puck!_" he hissed, and the sudden change in name made the mohawked boy realize his mistake. He released Kurt and backed off. "Let it go. Yes, it was him. But I'm fine. I swear."

Puck didn't seem to be listening anymore, though. "That jackass! I'm gonna break his arms! Screw juvie, I'm not just gonna sit around and let him _do_ this to you anymore! He's gonna pay for what-"

"No."

It was Blaine who spoke, not Kurt. Both of them turned to the curly-haired boy in surprise. Blaine was sort of taken aback himself. But he repeated himself with determination. "Kurt's alright. For now, at least. Have you ever actually _been_ to juvie, Puck?" The taller boy shook his head. "I have. Been there, don't that, _not_ willing to go back. You're already on the borderline when you get sent here...Don't do anything worth getting put in the slammer unless it's _really, really_ worth it."

"Are you saying Kurt's not worth it?" Puck raged.

"No," he said again, eerily calm. "I'm saying that Kurt won't be broken that easily, and we need to have more faith in him."

Puck grabbed the front of Blaine's shirt in a fist. "You have _no_ idea what Kurt's been through," he hissed. "Don't talk about him like you _know_ him! If you knew what I knew, if you'd seen what I've seen-"

"Noah. That's enough."

Kurt yanked at the back of Puck's shirt until he let Blaine go. The shorter boy smoothed out his top. "No, I don't know what Kurt's been through," he agreed. "Kurt's a lot of things, but I wouldn't consider him _weak_. Everybody has crap they have to deal with. Especially us gays. Some of us, like Kurt, learn how to endure. Others, like me, act out and land ourselves in fuckin' reform school." He shrugged. "From where I'm standing, I'd say that Kurt was the stronger one of us two."

Kurt gave him a sad little half-smile.

"I wish I was as strong as you seem to think I am, Blaine..."

…

**Before you ask: Yes, we will learn why Blaine went to juvie. But for now, just enjoy the bigbrother!Puck and Blaine's struggle towards civility...Poor baby. He doesn't understand what it's like to care for another :'(**

**Kisses,**

**~Ripple**


	7. Chapter 7: Detention

**That awkward moment when you have to read your own fanfic to remember what part you're at...Although, in my defense, I had mono. And then final exams.**

**Also, this is usually how my two-in-the-morning conversations with Yelah go:**

**Me: "You're disgusting."**

**Yelah: "Yeah, me too."**

**Me: "...Wait, WHAT?"**

**Silverfox, I would love some cyber-cookies, thank you! :D Happy 2012 to you, too, love! *raises glass* Let's hope my Klaine plot bunnies attack me from all sides and nuzzle my feet like psycho crazy fluffy balls of AWESOME. Cheers. And as for your review to Puppy Love: my semester ends mid-January, but second semester doesn't end till mid-June. We have a weird schedule. ;)**

…

The following Monday found Kurt in Madame Abel's classroom, at her desk, grading papers and monitoring detention.

_How do I get myself into these situations?_

Dalton tended not to use detention. It was only used when a teacher was willing to stay after and watch over the day's catch of miscreants, which wasn't often. Madame Abel had volunteered to oversee detention that afternoon, but in fifth period she'd gotten a massive migraine and Kurt opted to take over for her. It wasn't like the boys he was supposed to tutor that day would miss him.

Not surprisingly, Blaine was in attendance. What was more surprising was that he was one of the _few_. Puck, Jeff, Nick, and Thad were the only others sentenced to the hour of punishment that day. From what Mrs. Roberts had told him, Kurt knew that detention tended to be a time for kids to just goof off, and the teachers were well aware of that fact and usually let it happen.

But that didn't stop Kurt from getting thoroughly frustrated with the lot.

"Thad, one more paper airplane and I will personally stick you with janitorial duties for the rest of the _week_," he snapped. The boy in question pouted and set down the fifth paper airplane he'd been about to throw across the room at Nick and Jeff, who were making out in the corner. Kurt didn't have the heart to break them up. "And Noah, you can last an hour without Angry Birds. Don't make me confiscate it. You know I don't want to."

Puck sighed heavily but reluctantly put away his iPhone. "Come on, man, lighten up!"

Kurt raised an eyebrow at him. "May I remind you that I _work_ here? It's my _job_ to keep you dimwits in line."

"Yeah, but it's not like _you'd_ get in trouble if we broke the rules," he shrugged.

The young secretary rolled his eyes in exasperation and returned his gaze to the French paper before him. "You know, _shockingly_, I actually want to see you guys improve and stop screwing up all the time so you can get out of here. I know it may be a difficult concept for you to grasp, but I like to think that there's good in everybody. Some people just need a little help bringing it out of them."

It might have been Blaine's imagination, but he could have sworn Kurt's eyes flickered up to him as he spoke.

"But I assumed, after what went down with..." Puck glanced around. "You know, _him_...I thought you'd want to stay as far away from these kinds of places as possible. Doesn't it, y'know, bring up bad memories and shit?"

Kurt glanced up at him again and took a deep breath. "Yes. It does bring up 'bad memories and shit' sometimes. But if I don't have hope that somewhere, somehow, thick-skulled halfwit barbaric thugs like him are taught their lesson, I'll break. I _need_ to see that progress is being made. I genuinely want to help you guys, believe it or not."

The mohawked boy snorted and leaned back in his chair, hands folded behind his head, the epitome of relaxed. "You're too _good_, man. Too optimistic...The dudes here don't _want_ to be helped. We're all just fuck-ups. I think it'd do you well to just stay away from guys like us and join a fuckin' nunnery or something..."

Kurt glared. "One, I'm male. Two, I'm atheist. And three, if I gave up on you guys now, it would be like saying it's _okay_ for people like _him_ to be complete testosterone-driven meat-headed jackasses because that's just_ who they are_."

Puck hesitated.

Thad leaned over to whisper in Blaine's ear. "Dude, who the fuck are they talking about?"

Blaine held up a hand to him. Thad sighed grumpily and sat back down in his own seat. Blaine was still focused on Kurt and Puck's conversation, trying to get as much as he could out of it, studying Kurt's face from over his shoes, which were propped up on his desk.

"But Kar- He isn't like me!" Puck insisted, dropping his chair back down to all fours as he leaned forward. "I just break the rules sometimes, get into a couple fights, y'know...But what _he_ does..." He shook his head. "That's not cool, man. That's- That's not okay. Ever."

Kurt rolled his eyes again. "Glad to know you do have some twisted sense of morals, Noah. What a relief." He circled a grade at the top of the paper and went on to the next one. "Clearly you've already mastered the art of bullshitting around the rules, though, so I don't know how much credit I can give you. Your 'time away' over in Mondale doesn't exactly inspire trust."

"Mondale?" Blaine echoed. "The reform school in Cleveland?"

"That's the one," Puck smirked.

"Right on." They fist-bumped. Kurt tutted and did his best to ignore them.

"Didn't they close recently?" Blaine asked.

Puck snorted. "Sure did! Good riddance, too, the bastards...Since they couldn't send me back there, they stuck me in here instead. Didn't remember till my first day that Kurt worked here. Funny how things work out, huh?"

"Yes, yes, hilarious," Kurt snapped. "Now, would you kindly shut up? You're not actually supposed to talk during detention. I've been _more_ than lenient."

Puck crossed his arms, grumbled about Kurt having a stick up his ass, and closed his eyes. He was unconscious within the minute. Blaine snickered at how whipped he was before catching Kurt's pointed glare and silencing as well. Thad just smirked at the two of them. He had no clue what was going on, but whatever it was, it was amusing. No matter how badass the guys at Dalton acted, they all succumbed to Kurt's will in the end. He was quickly becoming the most powerful member of the faculty, even above Principal Dickenson. There was just something about him that made them _obey_.

Meanwhile, Nick and Jeff continued to suck face in the back of the classroom. Nobody even acknowledged them.

…

When detention ended, Thad was the first one out the door. Jeff and Nick hurried after him, waving briefly at Kurt and giggling in a fashion that made it very clear where they were headed. Puck hustled to the door as well, but paused.

"You alright there, Hummel?"

Kurt glanced over at him, quickly dropping his hand from his hip. "Fine," he lied automatically.

Puck frowned. "I know when you're fine, dude. What happened? Get locker-checked again?"

Kurt sighed heavily in a resigned sort of way. "Knocked into a water fountain."

Puck winced sympathetically. "Ouch. That's _gotta_ hurt..."

"You can go now, Noah. Do some homework tonight, alright?"

The mohawked boy gave a noncommittal grunt and made his way out of the room. With another deep breath, Kurt stood and turned to clean Madame Abel's chalkboard, ignoring the stab of pain that shot through his left hip at the movement.

He had not realized that Blaine was still in the room.

"What's his name?"

Kurt jumped and whirled around again. Blaine stood slouched against one of the front desks, arms crossed, studying Kurt with those intense hazel eyes that always made Kurt's brain a little fuzzy.

He knew what he was referring to. "It's none of your business, Anderson."

"Come on. Just a name won't harm anything! I don't know anyone over at McKinley anyway."

Kurt did not answer immediately. He waited until the chalkboard was wiped clean, and even then he kept his back to Blaine as he spoke. "Dave."

"Dave?" Blaine echoed. He had expected something along the lines of Bulldog, or The Ripper.

Kurt nodded down at the chalk tray, hands absently rubbing over the washcloth to remove the white powder from his fingertips. His voice was quiet, but cold. "David Karofsky. Varsity football player, co-captain of the ice hockey team, and biggest homophobic homosexual in all of Ohio." he turned back around and gingerly took his seat.

"I hate him."

"You've never met him."

"Doesn't mean I won't break his nuts when I do."

Kurt smiled tightly. "If I didn't despise your insatiable need for violence, I would commend you on the honorable gesture." He realigned the graded papers on Madame Abel's desk, front and center so that she wouldn't miss them, before packing away his red pen. "I don't know why you care so much, Anderson. If you're just pretending so that you can get in my pants, I can assure you right now it won't work."

Blaine smirked and retorted without even thinking. "Keep telling yourself that, babe."

He suddenly got the mental image of Kurt pressed up against that blackboard, weakly complaining about chalk getting on his shirt; or bent willingly over that desk for him, ass in the air; or straddling him in that chair; or-

"Blaine?"

He blinked, and turned away.

"See you tomorrow, Legs."

Kurt's 'that's not my name' was cut off by the door closing sharply behind him. Blaine gritted his teeth, clenched his fists, and made his way to his room as quickly as physically possible with a hard-on. Once inside, he slammed the door, locked in, and threw himself onto his bed with a groan.

_What the fuck is wrong with me? He's getting harassed and abused practically every day and all I can think about is screwing his brains out? Jesus christ, I'm either the horniest or the most selfish bastard in this entire school. Probably both. God dammit, what the hell is he _doing_ to me? I never used to have this problem! I would just fuck 'em raw and then drop 'em. Why can't I do that with him? What makes him so fucking special?_

_It's because he's bullied, _he decided angrily. _I feel bad for him, and the guilt makes me hold back. That's it. He's got some issues that need to be dealt with before I can fuck him with a clean conscience. Starting with that Karofsky asshole...As soon as I get that dipshit out of the picture, _then_ I can have my way with Hummel. I'll just have to be patient, play my cards right..._

His mind made up, he stumbled his way to the en suite bathroom and jacked off to the mental image of Kurt finally out of those skintight jeans.

…

"Kurt? Is that you?"

"No, it's a four-headed monster, come to steal all of your refried beans," he called back monotonously, closing the door behind him and stripping off his jacket. "Yes, Dad, it's me."

Burt came in from the living room, chuckling. "You're late."

"I told you, I was doing some overtime today because Madame Abel had to go home early. Didn't you get my text?"

"Can never work that damn contraption," Burt muttered, following his son into the kitchen. Kurt brushed against the counter and flinched when the tile came into contact with his bruised hip. "Hey, you alright there, kiddo?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he assured, flashing a well-practiced smile at his father. "What do you want for dinner?"

Burt wasn't distracted, though. He moved closer. "Hey, they're treating you right over at that nuthouse, right?" he demanded. "You're not getting beat up or something, are you?"

"No, of course not." And it was the truth. He wasn't physically harmed at Dalton, or at least not intentionally. And he'd stopped mentioning the bullying at McKinley long ago. He didn't want hid dad to worry about him. It wasn't like there was much he could do anyway; they couldn't afford private school, and every time Burt had tried to take up the issue with the school board, they insisted that since Kurt had no viable evidence of the harassment, they couldn't punish the offenders. Kurt had given up trying to go to adults for help.

Burt did not look convinced. "Well...You should carry this with you, just in case. I don't like this – you working at a _reform_ school. You need to be as safe and protected as possible, not going out and looking for danger!"

"I'm _not_ looking for danger, Dad," Kurt soothed, taking the small can of pepper spray Burt shoved into his hand and slipping it into his pocket. "I'm trying to _help_ these guys. Trying to make them see that they don't have to act out and break the rules to get noticed. Some of them have a lot of wasted potential, Dad. And besides, I don't want any more Karofskys in this world."

"Don't even say that name," Burt growled, his face darkening. He knew that Karofsky was Kurt's main bully. He did not know the extent of it, of course – Kurt had never told anybody, and Puck had sworn not to either – but he was aware of some of the crap he'd put Kurt through in the past. He despised the jock on general principle.

"Exactly." Kurt strode passed him towards the staircase. "I'm going to take a shower. Then I'll start dinner."

Just as he reached the top of the stairs, Burt's voice reached him. "Hey, Kurt?"

"Yes?"

His father's worried face appeared from around the kitchen doorway. "You don't- The bullying at McKinley...It's all under control now, right?"

A jolt of pain shot through Kurt's entire body at the sight of his Dad's anxious expression. He could never tell him. He'd have another heart attack for sure. So Kurt plastered on his I'm-totally-fine smile and said, "Yes, everything's under control," because there was nothing else he could say.

He could handle it himself. He'd been doing it for years. He could handle another two.

…

**This chapter seriously did not want to be written. Blaine was like 'yes I'm Kurt's new best friend' and then he was like 'no just let me fuck him already' and I was just like 'make up your mind you silly twit!' And then I realized I was arguing with a fictional character and decided I needed a break. Le awkward.**

**In the next chapter, Kurt and Blaine have another talk, and you get to learn more about what went down with Kurt and Karofsky! It's not pretty. :( I nearly made Yelah cry when I gave her some spoilers...**

**Kisses,**

**~Ripple**


	8. Chapter 8: Outburst

**Wow. Haven't updated in two months...There's personal reasons for the delay I won't bore you with, but do know that I'm genuinely sorry for the hiatus. Hopefully you haven't given up on this fic yet. :)**

…

"Hey, Legs, wait up!"

Kurt groaned. "Not you, too!" Apparently Blaine's little nickname for him was beginning to spread. He waited until Puck had caught up before adding, "That's a horrific epithet. Even worse than Porcelain."

Puck chuckled, well used to Kurt's constant stream of complaints. "How are you, _Kurt_?"

The secretary raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? That's what you stopped me to ask?" He sighed, crossing his arms, cocking his hip, ignoring the slight twinge of pain from where the top of his jeans rubbed against the bruise on his hip. "I'm marvelous, Noah, and how are you? Pretend I actually care."

Puck frowned. "No, I mean..." He lowered his voice, making it clear he was serious. "Really...How're you doing?"

And Kurt knew exactly what he meant. Glancing at a small group of passing seniors wandering towards the cafeteria, he clenched his jaw and mumbled under his breath, "Same as always." Which he knew Puck would understand to mean that it was still bad at McKinley, but at least it wasn't any worse than normal.

Puck grabbed his elbow and pulled him off to the side of the Main Hall, away from the crowd of boys milling around, some having already finished eating, others munching on the food they'd managed to sneak out of the dining hall. There were rules about keeping meals within the cafeteria, but they were not very strictly enforced.

"Noah," Kurt moaned impatiently, "I have to get to work."

"It's a Tuesday, nothing happens at Tuesday lunch," Puck waved off. Kurt rolled his eyes again. He knew it'd probably be best to just let Puck say his bit and then escape, rather than spend half an hour arguing about his own work schedule and responsibilities. So he pinned Puck with his best make-this-worth-my-time expression and waited. The mohawed boy took a deep breath, eyes shifting around to make sure they wouldn't be overheard, before beginning. "You've got to let me in, man. Stop trying to deal with everything on your own. I haven't told anybody about Karofsky – You know you can trust me, dude!"

"You're in reform school, Noah," Kurt pointed out cooly.

"Yeah, but that's just 'cause I can't control my fists sometimes. You know that I've got your back, Hummel. I swore I would keep my mouth shut about what I walked in on, and I've stayed true to my word, haven't I?"

Kurt sighed. "Yes, you have," he allowed.

"So you've got to start _talkin' _to me!" The sincerity in Puck's voice was almost a little unnerving. Kurt shifted on his feet, avoided his gaze. He was not used to having somebody try so hard to get him to open up. Apart from his father, of course. And perhaps Blaine. "I can help! I mean, I'm trapped here in this pit of shit for now, so I can't beat the living crap out of that bastard – even though I _really_ want to – but I can- I can still help! I can, like, _listen_. Or something. Y'know, be someone you can talk to, man...Someone who knows what you're going through."

Kurt couldn't help but get defensive. "You have _no_ idea what I'm going through, Noah! You _saw_ something happen to me, yes, but that's entirely different from _experiencing_ it. And that wasn't even the extent of it, and nothing even close to that's happened to you before, so don't you dare stand there and tell me you _understand_."

"But I do!" Puck snapped back, a hint of desperation in his voice. He reached out to grab Kurt's arms, but the smaller boy flinched back.

"You have _no clue_ what it's like!" he insisted. Everything was bubbling up, simmering under his skin, pulsing through his veins. He was charging headfirst into a danger zone – he knew he should just shut up and walk away – but he held his ground. "Spend every day of your high school career _terrified_ of what abuse will come your way next. Walk down a hallway and have every cruel insult imaginable thrown at you. Get shoved into lockers and tossed into dumpsters on a daily basis because you're _gay_ and that's not _socially acceptable_. Have your life and your body threatened because someone decides that you're not even worth the human decency of proper treatment and courtship. _Then_ come talk to me, and tell me you understand what I'm going through."

He turned on his heel and stormed off towards the office, leaving behind a Main Hall of dead silence. He had not realized how much his voice had grown, how much focus he'd attracted, but at the moment he simply couldn't bring himself to care.

Mrs. Roberts glanced up as he wrenched open the main office door and stormed in. "Oh, my dear, is everything alright?"

_No_, he wanted to cry. _No, nothing is alright_. Instead, though, he took a deep, steadying breath and said, "Yes. It's okay."

"Did one of the boys harass you?" she pressed worriedly.

He wanted to snort and inform her that harassment was nothing new to him. But he held his tongue once again and smiled reassuringly to the elderly lady. "No, nothing of the sort. I'm fine." He then collapsed into his chair, his schoolbag thumping to the floor beside his feet. He exhaled slowly, hoping that some of his frustration left him along with his breath. Mrs. Roberts watched him closely. Not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention to himself, Kurt pulled out his homework and pretended to be absorbed in his math assignment. After a moment, he sensed Mrs. Roberts return to her own work.

He'd have to eventually find Puck and apologize. He knew he'd just been trying to help. It wasn't his fault Kurt was wound so tight. That credit went entirely to the jocks of McKinley High. Namely Karofsky.

The sudden flash of that dark leer across his vision made Kurt tense in his seat and shut his eyes. _Don't. Don't think about him. Don't think about what he did. Stop it. Think of something else. Anything else!_

_I wonder where Blaine is. He usually meets me at the front door when I arrive._

The shock made his eyes fly open.

_Wait, what the hell? Why am I thinking about _him_ of all people?_ Kurt shook his head to clear his mind of the boy. Of all the distractions he could have used, Blaine was probably the least useful. He was yet another jackass trying to get into his pants. That was all. Nothing more.

_He did cheer me up a bit, though_, he reminded himself. _That day in the tearoom...We talked. Like, a real conversation, with minimal vulgarity. It was sort of...nice._

Kurt forced his mind back to his homework. He had to stop thinking like that. Blaine was not somebody he could afford to get close to. He was too unpredictable, too lust-driven, too dangerous. He'd been to _juvie_, for christ's sake! Kurt knew better than to associate himself with people like that. He had his standards, after all. And they most certainly did not include dirty-mouthed delinquents. Even if said delinquent happened to be very easy on the eyes...

He let out a moan and slumped down atop his textbook.

"Kurt, sweetheart?" Mrs. Roberts said hesitantly. "Are you sure you're feeling alright? Should I get the nurse?"

He sat up. "No, no. I'm fine. Besides, he's probably busy treating someone with a broken nose, or a black eye or something." The line in front of Nurse James's office was usually almost as long as the one outside of the disciplinarian's. Kurt stood. He suddenly felt the need to move around, do something. "Are there any students you need me to bring in?"

"Oh, well, um." Mrs. Roberts rustled around her desk for a moment. Then a wide smile spread across her face, creating numerous wrinkles around her eyes. "Actually, my dear, no! Isn't that a miracle? This has been the first day in months we haven't had to call anybody in!"

Kurt gaped at her. Sure enough, when he glanced towards Mr. Monroe's office, he saw that the bench outside of it was empty for the first time in his memory. And now that he thought about it, he hadn't passed any fights or blatant acts of vandalism or rule-breaking on his way to the office this afternoon, apart from the boys eating their lunches in the Main Hall, which hardly counted and basically always went by unpunished anyway. _Perhaps Puck is right. Tuesdays are lull days..._

Seeming to sense Kurt's need to get out, though, Mrs. Roberts quickly pulled a folder from a precarious stack on her desk and handed it over to him and requested that he go make some copies for the ninth grade history teacher. He nodded eagerly, welcoming the task.

…

"Hey! Puckerman!" Blaine jogged up and caught his arm. The Main Hall was still buzzing with chatter about the young secretary's outburst. Puck's expression was a little dazed. Blaine snapped in his face. "Puck!"

The taller boy blinked. "What do you want, Anderson?"

"What the hell just happened?" he pressed, gesturing in the general direction Kurt had disappeared in.

Puck ran a hand distractedly over his mohawk. "That would be the result of years of abuse bottled up without any form of release, Midget." He sighed sharply, and the weary look on his face was the only thing stopping Blaine from breaking his kneecaps for the height jab. Suddenly, Puck turned to him, his gaze accusatory, or possibly suspicious, Blaine wasn't entirely sure. Maybe both. "This isn't your doing, is it? Because I swear to god if I find out you're the reason behind this I will smash your head in with a-"

"Whoa, calm down!" Blaine cut in, raising both hands in innocence. "I didn't do _squat_. Why's this automatically _my_ fault?"

"Because you're the one that keeps triggering him!"

Blaine's glare turned frigid. "I'm not Karofsky, Puck, okay?"

That brought Puck up short. He obviously had not expected Blaine to know Karofsky's name, or anything about him at all. There was a second where the two of them simply stared at one another, sizing each other up, deciding what their next move would be. Finally, Puck's shoulders sagged. "I know you're not, dude. There's no way you'd be _that_ cruel to him." Before Blaine could even ask exactly what Karofsky had done that was so horrendous and traumatizing, Puck went on. "I just wish he'd open up a bit, y'know? Let people in. He used to be so...I don't know, _social_, I guess. He was the Cheerleading Captain, and top of the class, and Rachel's only real competition in glee club, and in a way I guess I kinda admired him for his confidence, because even though he was being bullied, he still walked tall. But then..." His fists clenched. "After the Karofsky shit went down, he shut off completely. It was...too much, I think. Pushed him over the edge. The last straw, or whatever. He quit the Cheerios, stopped fighting for solos, never raised his hand in class...And then, out of nowhere, he quit New Directions, and a few weeks later he got this job here! I'll never understand it."

Blaine tried desperately to sort through all this new information that he'd been presented with. Some of it was lost on him – _who's Rachel? What the fuck are the Cheerios? What was that about nude erections?_ – but he stored as much of it as he could into his memory.

"Still not willing to tell me what went down with this Karofsky asshole?"

Puck let out a humorless chuckle. "If Kurt ever found out I broke my promise to him he'd probably shave my eyebrows or something..." He sighed again and slumped up against the wall. Blaine joined him. "But you like him, don't you?"

Blaine wasn't sure how to answer. "Did the nonstop inappropriate comments tip you off?" he joked.

Puck shrugged, undeterred. "It's just that you seem to spend quite a lot of time with him and you don't hit on any of the other gay guys around here-"

"That's because I've already slept with all them," Blaine couldn't help but point out.

The larger boy's gaze turned steely. "Listen here, punk," he hissed. "I don't care how much of a badass you are; take advantage of my boy Hummel and I will _end_ you-"

"Dude, chill out," Blaine broke in, folding his arms across his chest. "Believe it or not, I'm not completely heartless. I'm not gonna try and get close to him just so I can get into those skinny jeans of his. That's not cool. Kurt's...He doesn't deserve that."

Puck's expression was unreadable. "Does anybody?"

Blaine's eyes narrowed. "I don't _rape_, Puckerman. Let me just make that very clear. It's always been completely consensual. I don't see how you and I are any different in that aspect – just because the people I fuck have dicks instead of pussies doesn't make it more _wrong_. And you've slept with _way_ more people than me."

Puck exhaled slowly. "I know, man. I'm sorry. I just don't want anybody to hurt Kurt."

"I promise, that's the last thing I want, too. And I'll help him in whatever way he'll let me."

_Just yesterday you planned on fucking him raw as soon as you dealt with that Karofsky cunt_, that annoying internal voice reminded.

He knew it was going to be far more difficult than that, though. He couldn't just clock the bastard and have Kurt fall swooning into his arms (and his bed). It wasn't that simple. _Kurt_ wasn't that simple. He was different, strong, a mystery. Probably the only person with a chance of taming him. Blaine knew that Kurt deserved something that he could never offer.

Romance.

So they could be friends, if anything. But nothing more. And he was surprisingly okay with that. He didn't even care if he seemed like a wuss, wanting to befriend the hot teenage secretary instead of sleeping with him. He knew it would mean more cold showers, but that was a compromise he was willing to make if it resulted in more time spent with Kurt.

"Dude?"

He glanced up. Puck was eying him worriedly. "What?"

"The bell just rang."

"Oh." He had been so lost in thought he hadn't even heard the chime. "Alright. Time for math then, I guess."

As they crossed to the grand staircase, they noticed Kurt emerging from one of the corridors that branched off from the Main Hall. He was not alone, either. A sandy-haired senior was trailing after him, and from Kurt's grim expression it was clear that his presence was not exactly welcomed.

Puck and Blaine exchanged a glance and instantly came to a silent agreement.

"Hey! Hummel!"

"Legs, wait up!"

They strode over. Kurt froze in his tracks when he heard their voices, and the boy following close behind – Andrew P-something, Blaine thought – nearly walked right into him. Instead, he stopped mere inches away. The proximity was not lost on anybody. Blaine remembered with an odd jolt in his stomach that he'd slept with Andrew at the end of last year. Which meant he was gay.

The urge to punch his face in grew exponentially with that revelation.

"Blaine, Noah, hi," Kurt greeted with a controlled calmness.

"Who's the shadow?" Puck inquired. Blaine could tell that he disliked Andrew as well, even though they'd never met before.

"Andrew Peters," Kurt introduced tersely. "He ran into me in the copy room."

"Literally," Andrew added with an easy laugh. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, bringing him still closer to Kurt's shoulder. Blaine's jaw clenched. "Totally my fault. Didn't see where I was going." He turned to grin at Kurt.

_Could you _be_ any more obvious?_ Blaine ground his teeth.

"Cool story, bro," Puck forced out, a dangerous smile on his face. "Now why don't you just run along to class, Drewy. I'm sure Kurt's very busy."

Andrew's face darkened at the nickname. "Actually, I don't have a fifth period. Study hall, technically, but we all know that's bullshit."

Kurt faked a small smile. "Well, unfortunately, I do have to get back to work now."

"Are you sure you don't want me to keep you company? It must get pretty boring by yourself."

"No, not r-"

"He's fine," Blaine overrode him forcefully, not bothering to hide his detestation. Almost simultaneously, Blaine and Puck crossed their arms, flexing their muscles in the process. Andrew swayed away a little from Kurt. "Now I suggest you return your worthless ass to the crypt you crawled from before I have to do it myself. _Goodbye_, Drewy."

Andrew glanced from Blaine, to Puck, to Kurt, and back to Blaine.

"Later, Kurt," he muttered, before escaping up the stairs and leaving the trio alone in the Main Hall.

Kurt let out a long breath. "Thanks, guys," he whispered. "I mean, you were both extraordinarily rude, but...Nice timing..."

Puck beamed and clapped him gently on the shoulder, but even so, Kurt winced. There was probably a bruise there from a recent locker shove. "Nobody messes with my boy."

"If he tries anything, I'll put him in line," Blaine assured maliciously.

Kurt gave a weak, but genuine, smile. "No more violence, Anderson...It's fine. He's alright. As far as reform school boys go, at least. I just- I can't handle another potential Karofsky situation right now. Or ever."

They both nodded in understanding.

Then, unexpectedly, Kurt turned to Blaine and said, "Walk me to the office? I'm sure your rep around here is enough to keep people away."

Blaine snickered. "Sure. It's not like I was itching to get to Ms. Brown's class in the first place."

Kurt smiled softly at Puck as they left. "See you later, Noah. Get to class."

Puck snorted. "You ask too much of me, Hummel."

Blaine and Kurt walked side-by-side towards the main office, close but not touching, a strangely comfortable silence between them. Blaine could sense the underlying tension, though, that neither was willing to address. The unsaid words hung in the air between them. What were they, anyway? Friends? Acquaintances? Blaine had never been good with boundaries...

Kurt paused just outside the office. "I got the sense that you knew Andrew?"

Blaine bowed his head, sort of ashamed to confess, "Um, yeah, we hooked up. Last year." _Wow. I sound like such a slut. But I _have_ slept with all the gay guys around here! I'm not gonna lie about it. Kurt probably already knew that._

"Oh." Kurt's expression was a mixture between surprise and disappointment. "Were- Were you two...together?"

Blaine scoffed. "Do I seem like the boyfriend type?"

And now the disappointment became the dominant emotion on his face. "No. But I think you could have been." With a curt nod, he pulled open the door and disappeared inside.

Blaine was not entirely sure why that cut him so deep.

…

**Oh Blainers! Too scared to try his hand at romance, so he settles for being friend-zoned. :( Does anybody have a bucket? I need it for my tears. I just finished planning out the rest of this fic, and Blaine's backstory...*ugly sobbing***

**Longer chapter to make up for the painfully long hiatus...? ;) I missed you guys!**

**Kisses,**

**~Ripple**


	9. Chapter 9: What Have I Done

**I have no legitimate excuse, unless I told you my whole life story. Just enjoy! :D**

**When I told Yelah I was working on Dedication, she did this strange dance move she described as "the Indian arrrara!" So I hope you guys are just as excited! ;)**

…

That night, mere minutes before the hall monitors were due to be unleashed upon the dormitories, Blaine made his way down to Andrew's room.

"Here for a quick screw?" the blond drawled, looking smug as he leaned back in his desk chair. Blaine felt a powerful urge to punch his expression right off his face. _I can't believe I actually slept with this dickhead._ "Sorry to break it to you, Anderson, but once was more than enough for me."

"Shove it, Peters. You're just pissed I tossed you out in the morning like the worthless pile of shit you are. No, I'm here because of Kurt."

Andrew's eyebrows rose, and his eyes held a mischievous glint. "Oh? And what _about_ Mr. Sexy-ass Secretary?"

"You'd better back off if you know what's good for you."

"Aw," he mocked in a baby voice. "How thoughtful of you to warn me. I'm touched. But you had your chance, Anderson. If you haven't been able to get into his pants yet, you might as well accept defeat. He just doesn't want you, I guess. It's my turn to try and get in those fuck-me pants of his now." He closed his eyes and moaned erotically. "God, I can't _wait_ to pound my cock into that tight-"

His words were abruptly cut off when Blaine's fist met his face.

Thrown backwards by the force, he toppled out of his chair. Blaine calmly shook out his hand as Andrew groaned and scrambled to his feet. His lip was split and bleeding down his chin.

"What the _fuck_, Anderson!" he exploded.

"Kurt's not a goddamn whore, you piece of shit," he snarled, voice so low it was almost a growl. Rage like he'd never felt before was coursing through him, searing his skin, igniting a fire within. "He doesn't spread his legs for anyone who smiles and winks in his direction like _you_ do. I suggest you _back the fuck off _unless you want to sleep with your eyes open for the rest of your stay here at Dalton."

"You're such a hypocrite!" Andrew shot back. "You fucked every gay and bi guy in this shithole without any remorse. Why the hell do you get to decide who screws who? What, you savin' him for yourself or some crap like that?"

"No." _A lie._ "I'm making sure he isn't going to be harassed by ass-shats like you." _Truth_.

He scoffed. "Yeah, because _you_ haven't been harassing him every day since he started working here or anything." Although his sarcasm was biting, he kept his gaze averted; Blaine was still the top dog at Dalton, after all. One wrong move and he could very well end up in the hospital. Or worse. He'd heard the stories of what Blaine had done to land himself in juvie. The shorter boy was not somebody to cross. "Look, man, I just don't see why I shouldn't be allowed to fuck his brains out, since he obviously already rejected you."

Blaine's hands curled into fists again, and Andrew flinched away. "Because he doesn't _want_ you to."

"Oh, like that's ever stopped _you_," the blond shouted, brushing off the trickle of blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I never once heard any protests," Blaine reminded. "Including yourself. In fact, if I remember correctly, you were practically _begging_ for my cock, weren't you? You were-"

"Shut the fuck up," he hissed, eyes flickering to the hallway over Blaine's shoulder as if afraid of being overheard. "We were both completely hammered and you know it. Besides, how would you know what Hummel wants? You get him drunk and have him tell you all his deep dark secrets?"

Blaine's mind immediately flashed to the faceless image of Karofsky, a stranger he hated more than anybody in the world. With a couple exceptions, of course. He blinked hard to clear the mental image he'd conjured up. "No, but I definitely know more than you do about him. And I can tell you with one-hundred-percent confidence that Kurt _doesn't want your dick_."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, that's fucking so!" He took a step forward into Andrew's room, his voice and expression deadly. "You're going to back off Hummel, Peters, if you know what's good for you. He's not some cheap slut. And if you treat him as one, you'd better be ready to say goodbye to your balls." He left out the part where he was fairly certain it was Kurt himself that would be doing the dismemberment.

The taller boy seemed to be gathering up his courage. "You don't own him, Anderson. I have just as much right to spend time with Hummel as you do."

"'Spend time with'?" he echoed incredulously. "Fucking a guy shitless isn't 'spending time with'. 'Spending time with' is eating lunch together, or grabbing some coffee, or talking about your days, or going to the mall...Shit like that. Don't screw with me, Peters; if you're looking for an easy lay, Hummel's not the guy you're looking for."

"Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing here past curfew?"

He turned to the dark-haired senior without so much as a blink of the eye. If anything, he was simply annoyed that their conversation had been interrupted.

"Heed my words, Drewy, from one fag to another. Hands. Off. Hummel."

And with that, he turned on his heel and strode right passed the hall monitor and back towards his own dorm room without a backwards glance.

…

Madame Abel held Blaine back after class the next day to inform him that his grade had dropped down to a D. He put on a very convincing act of being shocked and ashamed. When she suggested he join one of Kurt's tutoring groups, he pretended to be reluctant before grudgingly agreeing. Inside, he was doing a dance of triumph. When Kurt arrived during lunch – wearing black leather pants of all things, as if he was actively _trying_ to test Blaine's self-restraint – he made sure not to let slip about his talk with the French teacher. He wanted to surprise Kurt that afternoon.

"So how was school today?" he inquired as they headed towards the office, as per usual.

Kurt snorted. "What are you, a visiting relative? School was _school_. You're in one, too. My day was probably just like yours."

"Really? Did someone accidentally set fire to their notebook in second period Chem class? Anyone throw a globe out the window? Get a broken nose and dislocated index finger just because he stepped on Thad's foot?"

Kurt froze in his tracks and turned to face him. "I- Okay, maybe not so similar, then. Forgot for a second you're all a bunch of violent thugs. Doesn't it...you know, bother you?"

Blaine shrugged, and they kept walking. "I don't really have much choice in the matter, Legs. Reform school isn't exactly glamorous. It's better than juvie at least. Not that that's hard criteria to meet." They'd reached the office door. "Have fun filing papers or whatever it is secretaries do."

Kurt laughed and rolled his eyes. "Thanks. Try and pay attention in your classes, alright? You may actually learn something."

Blaine sighed dramatically. "You ask too much of me."

…

When Kurt turned up to the library for tutoring that afternoon, he found a surprise waiting for him. Joining his friends at the opposite end of the table from Kurt's normal seat was none other than Blaine Anderson, tilting back in his chair and smirking at Kurt as he approached.

"I'm warning you right now, if you prove to be too much of a distraction, as I have no doubt you will be, I will not hesitate to-"

"Hey, Legs, calm down." Blaine held up his hands in a sign of innocence that Kurt could not help but mistrust. 'Blaine' and 'innocence' were most definitely not synonyms. "Abel told me to be here. I'm not crashing the party."

Kurt blinked. "You- You actually need French help?" For some reason, he had not expected that from the shorter boy. Blaine may have been the most impulsive, egotistical, hot-headed boy at Dalton, sure enough, but Kurt had the sneaking suspicion that he was actually much smarter than he let on. What little French he'd heard Blaine speak wasn't nearly as horrific as most of Kurt's students'.

"I am your eager, fresh-faced new pupil," Blaine confirmed, his angelic persona ruined by the scheming gleam in his eyes.

"Must be my lucky day," Kurt deadpanned. The other boys at the table – Blaine's cronies, Kurt liked to call them – snickered. Kurt sighed heavily, resigning himself to Blaine's presence, and opened up the textbook to the chapter they were on. "Alright, so do any of you remember what we discussed in class today?"

A pause.

"Oh! We went over vocab at the end!" Jeff put in helpfully.

"Yeah, and Matt got punched in the face 'cause he knocked Ripper's pencil off his desk," Nick added, looking proud of himself for recalling something.

"Well, okay, but I was more thinking-"

Thad cut him off. "And you totally bitched Knuckles out for not paying attention. God, that was fuckin' _priceless_. You served him his own nuts on a platter."

"Paying attention to what?" Kurt urged.

"Madame A."

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes with immense difficulty. He felt like he was dealing with four-year-olds. Four-year-olds with the attention span of goldfish. "And what was she teaching about?"

Another pause. They seemed stumped.

Finally, Blaine – who had, up until this point, simply folded his arms and observed the table with a passive expression – scoffed and spoke up. "We discussed significant landmarks in Paris."

"Oh yeah," the rest of them murmured in synchrony. Blaine caught Kurt's eye and gave him a tiny smile and shrug that said 'what dumbasses.' He nodded in silent thanks.

"Exactly. Now, which ones can you remember?"

…

By the time the day's session had come to its end, Kurt had managed to get them to memorize each significant monument discussed in the book, which he knew would be on next week's test. They showered him with praise – which he accepted hesitantly, not sure if they were genuine or not – before bolting for the door. Kurt let out a long breath and sank back down into his chair.

"Must be hard."

He jumped at the voice, unaware that Blaine had remained seated across the table from him even when his friends had departed. Kurt had assumed he'd gone with them to destroy more school property or whatever it was they did in their downtime. Whatever they did, it certainly wasn't anything productive. After a beat, he realized that he had no idea what Blaine was referring to. "I- What is?"

"Having to deal with us dumbfucks every day."

"I don't think you're a dumbfuck," Kurt said quietly.

A heavy silence fell between them. Blaine ended up being the one to break it first. "Still, it probably sucks ass having to spend all your time _here_ instead of- I don't know, wherever. The mall or whatever. I know if I was you, this would be the _last_ place I'd want to spend my afternoons."

Kurt shrugged, averting his gaze from those intense hazel eyes that always made his brain just slightly fuzzier than normal. "It was my choice to start working here. It's not like I was forced into the position."

"Kinky."

He glared sharply. "Hilarious," he monotoned. Then, returning to his previous thought, "And I have more than enough time to hang out with my friends. It's not like I'm missing out on anything by being here; they're all in glee club practice until the time I get off anyway, so it works out. Besides, not _everyone_ here is completely awful..."

They stared at one another for an immeasurable amount of time. The air between them seemed to be filled with unspoken words, unanswered questions, unknown feelings. Kurt could not handle trying to figure it out right now; he knew better than to take that risk, to go down that path. For now, he would let it go unacknowledged. It was safer than facing himself and his stupid emotions.

Blaine blinked, and looked away. The moment was shattered. Suddenly, the semi-silence of the library felt thick, suppressive.

"Well, hate to burst your bubble, but everyone here is an utter bastard. Plain and simple. You'd do well to get out while you still can, Legs."

Kurt frowned. He heard the meaning of Blaine's words, loud and clear: _leave. It's hopeless._ There was a familiar sting behind his eyes and he knew he had to escape. _Now_. He stood abruptly and gathered his things together.

"Whoa, Sugar Lips, what's the hurry?" Blaine honestly seemed a little taken aback by Kurt's sudden change. He let his chair legs fall back down to all-fours.

"You said to get out while I still can," Kurt retorted, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his voice. "Just taking your advice. And once again, I'll remind you that _my name is Kurt_. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a huge Calculus test to study for."

"You should be studying the feeling of my cock down your throat," Blaine threw back instinctively. A reflex. "Maybe that would melt the icy chip on your shoulder."

Kurt threw him his best bitch glare over his shoulder, literally growling in frustration as he pushed his chair aside and heading towards the door. "Fuck off, Anderson. I sincerely hope you die a horrible and painful death."

Blaine's laughter mocked him all the way out of the library.

…

Kurt didn't even make it halfway home before he was forced to pull over onto the side of the road, the water in his eyes blurring his vision too much to drive any further.

…

Blaine slammed his door so hard it echoed all down the hallway. His hands clenched into fists; he needed release. Without registering what he was doing, he lashed out, throwing textbooks, kicking over his chair, punching the wall repeatedly until the plaster cracked and his skin was shredded and bloody.

_What the fuck did I just do to Kurt?_

…

**Wow. That angst at the end just crept up on me. I blame the remodeling of my favorite coffee shop. That's legit reasoning, right?**

**In the next chapter, Kurt's going to get an ingenious idea, inspired by none other than our lovable badboy! :D And Andrew will be returning.**

**If you ever want to rant about this fic, or ask questions, or complain about my horrendous updating, or inform me in great detail of your zombie apocalypse plans (my psych class recently spent an entire period discussing this) feel free to do so on my Tumblr! :) I'm **rippleklainebagels** on there.**

**Kisses,**

**~Ripple**


	10. Chapter 10: Drive By

**You get a little bit of Blaine's history in this one...Just a hint...**

…

The next day, Thursday, Kurt pretended Blaine didn't even exist. Blaine had tried to approach him on multiple occasions, but he put great effort into avoiding and ignoring him. Wes and David tried to find out from Blaine what had happened, but he cracked his knuckles and they let it go at once. Puck attempted to do the same with Kurt, cornering him as he headed for Madame Abel's room, but Kurt blew him off, yelling at him to mind his own business.

By Friday, Blaine was at the end of his rope. He wasn't even entirely sure what he'd said or done to make Kurt so upset – it wasn't like vulgarity was anything new – and the fact that he was borderline obsessing over it only served to frustrate him further.

Somehow, he found himself in the tearoom with his guitar. He hadn't played in months; he'd told himself he was done with music. Yet there he was, perched on top of one of the circular tables, guitar resting on his lap, fingertips caressing the familiar strings.

It felt like _home_.

_On the other side of a street I knew_

_Stood a boy that looked like you_

_I guess that's déjà vu_

_I thought this can't be true_

_'Cause you moved to west LA_

_Or New York or Santa Fe_

_Or wherever to get away from me_

He was singing. Blaine hadn't sung in over half a year. There was something so therapeutic about it, something that calmed him, made his problems seem less important. He forgot, in the moment, why he'd given it up in the first place.

_Oh but that one night_

_Was more than just right_

_I didn't leave you 'cause I was all through_

_Oh I was overwhelmed and frankly scared as hell_

_Because I really fell for you_

With each line, his voice – which had started in a low murmur – grew. By the time he reached the chorus, he was at regular volume, a ghost of a smile brightening his face, his fingers more sure of themselves on the chords. Images of Kurt laughing, rolling his eyes, throwing back a witty retort flashed across Blaine's vision. _'Because I really fell for you'_...Blaine tried not to read into it. Lyrics were just lyrics. They didn't necessarily have to relate to his life. "Drive By" was just the first song that came to mind. That was all.

_When you move me everything is groovy_

_They don't like it sue me_

_Mmm the way you do me_

_Oh I swear to you_

_I'll be there for you_

_This is not a drive by_

When the song ended, he took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. _What am I doing?_ He ran a hand through his curls distractedly. He'd sworn off music. This was the last thing he should be doing right now.

Movement near the doorway caught his eye, and he glanced over.

Kurt was leaning against the frame, arms folded, an unreadable expression on his face.

Automatically, Blaine straightened, heartbeat picking up. _'Kurt, I'm so sorry for whatever I did,'_ he wanted to say. But it didn't come out. Time seemed to be frozen in that sun-filled tearoom as they simply stared at one another, waiting for the other to react.

"You're good," Kurt finally said.

"I- Thanks."

But then Kurt turned and disappeared, leaving Blaine even more confused and frustrated than before.

…

Kurt ran into Wes and David on his way down to the office.

"Hey, Hummel!" Wes greeted. "Didn't realize you were still around."

"Uh, yeah, I..." _What? I heard this beautiful voice and decided to follow it?_ "I had to run some errands for Mrs. Roberts before I left."

"Oh, alright." David shrugged, unsuspecting. "Well, anyway, we were wondering-"

"Why didn't you tell me Blaine sings?" Kurt blurted.

The two boys froze, looking alarmed. Clearly the question had caught them off guard. Their dumbstruck expressions would have been amusing if Kurt had been in a laughing mood. They exchanged a glance before Wes said slowly, "Kurt, Blaine _doesn't_ sing. Not anymore. He stopped at the end of last year..."

"Well, obviously not, because I just heard him, and he's _good_."

David snorted at that. "Oh, he's way better than just 'good,'" he said knowingly. "He's incredible! Used to have the whole school at his feet whenever he played, teachers included."

"I miss those days," Wes confessed, a nostalgic look on his face. "Now they're at his feet because they're _scared_. And rightly so, but still. He was..._different_ when he used to sing and play his guitar all the time. I don't know, more free I guess."

"Why'd he stop?"

They both shrugged. "He never said," the Asian revealed. "One day he just suddenly told us to stop singing or else he'd break our necks, and that music was a waste of time, and that was that."

"Wait, you guys sang too?"

"Of course we did!" David cut in. "We were fuckin' _awesome_, too, if I do say so myself. We were like the unofficial choir of the school...It's what brought the six of us together last year. Blaine would just walk in at random times and start playing, and _boom_, we were off! Never rehearsed for shit; just screwin' around in the common rooms, that sort of thing."

"We were like goddamn _rockstars_, Hummel. You should have been there!"

Kurt nodded to himself. "Thank you, guys." He turned abruptly and hurried off, leaving behind two very confused students with a sneaking suspicion that Kurt was up to something.

…

"A glee club?"

"Principal Dickenson-"

"Please, call me Mr. Jim, Kurt."

"Mr. Jim," Kurt began again, trying to retain his patience. "I really think having a school glee club could _help_ these boys! It would give them a sense of- of unity, and pride. Something to look forward to at the end of the day, something they _enjoy_ doing that doesn't involve vandalization or smoking or drugs or any of that illegality they do on a daily basis. It would be an outlet for all that creative energy they can't express otherwise. And it might even improve their grades! Set a minimum GPA requirement for members or something..."

The older man chuckled. "You're going to save Dalton Academy Reform School for Boys...with _show choir_?" He laughed again, harder. It wasn't mocking, though; it was joyful. "Wonderful! And where would you suggest these boys meet?"

"The tearoom," he answered at once. "At least until I've found a more suitable location."

"Who would be the faculty advisor, though? I'm afraid you wouldn't qualify, Kurt."

He just smiled. "Already thought of that, Mr. Jim. I stopped by Madame Abel's room on my way here and managed to catch her just as she was leaving. She would _love_ to be the club's faculty advisor. Although I'll probably do most of the work, seeing as how she has very little experience in the world of show choir."

"It's going to be tough," he warned. "You know that, right? These kids aren't exactly the most cooperative of people to deal with."

Kurt sighed heavily. "Trust me, I'm well aware," he muttered.

The elderly man smiled at him sympathetically. "I know, Mr. Hummel. I know. It's not easy. These kids are a handful – they're rude and destructive and stubborn as all hell. But your presence here...I don't know if you're able to see it, but I definitely can. You're _already_ helping, Mr. Hummel. The severity of the rule-breaking and the number of cases in the past month have both dropped significantly!"

Kurt grinned. "So...is that a yes, then?"

The principal leaned back in his chair, studying him. "Alright," he said at last. "You have my permission. Drop by in a week for an update on your progress, alright?"

"I will." He resisted the urge to squeal and clap his hands in triumph.

"Wonderful."

…

"Wes! David! Wait up."

The pair turned to the sound of Kurt's call, their faces splitting into identical grins. "_Still_ here, Hummel?" Wes teased.

"Didn't realize you liked hangin' out with us so damn much."

"Shut up," Kurt snapped, but there wasn't any venom in his tone like normal. "I need your help with something."

Their eyebrows rose to show their interest. "We are at your service, Legs."

"Not my name. Now, Monday at lunch, I want you two to make a scene. But not just any scene – I want you _sing_. Common room, cafeteria, I don't care. Get as big of an audience as you can, go wild with it, try and get Nick and Jeff and Thad to join in..."

"Hummel, making a scene is what we do best," David assured dangerously, smile turning into a smirk. Kurt could already see the plans forming in his eyes.

"But Blaine-" Wes began.

"Let _me_ deal with Anderson," Kurt cut in, sounding far more confident than he really was. They exchanged a glance, but nodded.

"Montgomery! Thompson!"

Blaine's voice rang out. Kurt turned to watch the shorter boy draw closer, the gentle musician long gone, replaced once more with the aggressive troublemaker. He obviously was not about to bring up their encounter in the tearoom. Kurt would follow suit. "And Legs, too! Thought you'd be long gone by now."

"Just needed to finish up some business," he said cooly. Blaine raised an eyebrow, but before he could respond, Kurt's phone went off. He swore and fished it out of his pocket. "Dad, hi! Sorry, I just had to-"

"Jesus, Kurt, are you alright?" Burt demanded.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine." He waved at the three boarders absently before hurrying off towards the parking lot. They did not try and stop him. "I'm sorry, I probably should have called-"

"When I came home and you weren't here I thought- I was afraid-"

"Dad, no, I'm totally fine!" he insisted, not wanting his father to get worked up over nothing. "I was talking to the principal and forgot to warn you I'd be late. I'm heading home right now – I'll see you in ten minutes."

"Alright. Drive safe."

"Always do."

When he arrived home, he immediately launched into an explanation of his day, starting with walking in on Blaine's performance and finishing with his plan for starting a glee club at Dalton. The whole time, Burt stared at his son in silent awe.

"So?" Kurt finally pressed. "Do you think it's a stupid idea?"

"No," he said forcefully. "No, not one bit. I think it's a _great_ idea."

"Really?"

"Absolutely." He stood up and clasped Kurt by the shoulders. "Kid, I haven't seen you this excited about something since elementary school. Hell, since your mom died! If you're _this_ determined and passionate about starting a glee club at that school then I have no doubt in my mind that you'll make it work. You always do."

Kurt went a little misty-eyed, and hugged his father tightly. "Thank you..."

"Those kids are _blessed_ to have someone like you lookin' out for them."

"Principal Dickenson said something similar today," he recalled.

Burt beamed proudly. "Because it's true."

Kurt tried to keep that in mind the following week when he arrived at Dalton to a scene of complete and utter havoc.

…

**Next chapter is going to be fun to write. But I can't tell you why. ;) Also, really glad there was no Andrew in this chapter! I hate him. So hard. (But he'll be back in ch. 11 so bleh.)**

**Kisses,**

**~Ripple**


	11. Chapter 11: Auditions

**It's about time for an update, don't you think? ;)**

…

The Main Hall was crammed to capacity with students. Kurt could even spot a few faculty amongst the sea of uniforms. At the head of the stairwell stood David and Wes, as promised, and Thad, Nick, and Jeff were close behind. Their voices soared over the crowd, washed through the hall, filled it with life. Kurt did not recognize the song they were singing, but it didn't matter. It was the students' reactions that he cared about the most.

And one student in particular...

Blaine was standing off to the side, arms crossed, looking torn between murderous and disbelieving. As if he couldn't decide whether to interrupt them and break their necks or wait until the end.

Kurt wove through the crush of boys, making his way quickly towards the resident top dog, who was so focused on his friends' performance he didn't notice Kurt approaching.

"They're good," Kurt commented in his ear, secretly a little amused when Blaine twitched in surprise. It was not often someone could sneak up on him. Or at least not without getting sent to the nurse shortly after.

"They're idiots," Blaine muttered.

"Everybody else seems to like them..." And it was true. The students were all cheering and hollering their approval up at the tiny a cappella group, which had just launched into a new Maroon 5 song.

"Music is pointless. It doesn't get you anywhere in life."

Kurt's eyebrows rose. "Well, it didn't look like that's what you felt last Friday in the tearoom..." Blaine glanced at him, then quickly away. "It seemed like you really liked it."

"I used to," Blaine begrudged, still frowning up at the performers with a hint of what Kurt was pretty sure was envy. "But I'm done with that shit now."

"Why?"

"Because..." He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. "Because I realized how pointless it was. That's all."

Kurt was speechless. The boy he'd seen last week definitely did _not_ think that it was pointless. He was playing and singing with his _soul_, so focused, so at ease. "I don't believe that," he said calmly. "You love singing. I _know_ you do. That's why I wanted you to see this-"

"Wait, you knew this was going to happen?" he interrupted sharply.

_Might as well stick with the truth_, he reasoned with himself. "Yes. I asked them to do this. There's a new club at Dalton now – a glee club. And I think you would be a really valuable member."

Blaine's cool façade briefly flickered. "Really?" he said carefully. Hesitant. Doubtful.

Kurt nodded. "Just...Think about it, alright? For me?"

The curly-haired boy grunted noncommittally, but Kurt caught the minuscule smile that flashed by in the blink of an eye. He gave Blaine a friendly nudge on the shoulder with his own before making his way towards the staircase. The timing was perfect; the song was just ending as he ascended them up to the singers. They bowed dramatically to a deafening roar of applause. Kurt spotted Blaine looking around at the enthused audience with a thoughtful expression. He desperately hoped it would be enough to convince him.

"Are we gonna die tonight?" Wes murmured under his breath through still lips.

"Probably not," was the best Kurt could do. Then he turned to address the crowd below him. "Auditions for Dalton's new show choir will be tomorrow after sixth period in the tearoom. Anybody who likes to sing should try out."

"I'll try out if you're gonna be there," Andrew called out with a wink, earning a few laughs and shoulder-punches. Kurt kept his face carefully blank.

Then silence descended upon the hall as Blaine began to climb the stairs. Kurt could practically feel the nerves radiating off the five boys behind him. Whispers broke out amongst the crowd as everyone watched Blaine's progress; they knew his stance on music, remembered what he'd done to people who sang in the hallways, and were curious to know how he would react to this impromptu display. Would he threaten anybody who dared audition? Make an example out of his posy?

Kurt held his ground against that intense hazel gaze, the one that could both undress him and comfort him. Time seemed to stand still in the Main Hall; he could hear his own heartbeat pounding against his ribcage. Blaine's face was completely blank. Unreadable.

And then he gave the tiniest smirk.

"See ya at auditions, Legs."

…

The talk of the school that evening was 'Kurt's club.' Dozens of students tried to speak with Blaine about it, assuming he would know more about it than anybody else, but he shrugged them all off. In fact, he didn't talk about it at all. He practically pretended it didn't exist. His friends, on the other hand, couldn't seem to get _off_ the topic. They discussed possible audition songs, practiced together, enthused over finally being able to preform again. Wes even took it upon himself to research the competitions and their potential opponents, should they enter themselves.

"No, Noah! Absolutely not!"

Blaine paused at the familiar voice drifting down the hallway. Kurt turned the far corner, holding a bouquet and walking at a brisk pace, with a disgruntled Puck trailing close behind.

"Come _on_, Kurt, why not?"

"Because you're not allowed off campus, idiot," Kurt reminded.

"I bet you can get them to let me off for a night, though! They fuckin' _love_ you."

"Noah, just _drop_ it already."

"But-"

"No!" Kurt whirled on him. "I'm not giving you any special privileges. You're going to stay here and behave and then, if you've been good, you can go out during the Free Day. But that will be your own reward; you have to _earn_ it. You landed your ass in here, you get to suffer the consequences. I'm not pulling _any_ strings for you." He turned on his heel and stormed off, the effect somewhat ruined by the bright bundle of colors in his arms.

"Happy birthday, Hummel!" Puck called after him.

"It'd be happier if I wasn't here!"

"It's your birthday?" Blaine asked without thinking, easily falling into step beside him as he passed by. They were headed away from the office, towards the Main Hall, but Blaine wasn't perturbed.

Kurt winced, and gestured with a nod at the flowers. "Seventeen."

"Congrats."

He laughed curtly. "Look, let's just not talk about it, okay? It's just an ordinary day. Nothing special. Ignore it."

"Well, since you're carrying a huge bouquet, I'm pretty sure not many people are going to be able to _ignore it_," Blaine teased.

Kurt pursed his lips. "Which is precisely why I'm putting them in my car. It was very nice of Mrs. Roberts to get them for me, but I don't need anything drawing attention to it. I managed to survive school today without anybody acknowledging it, and I plan on keeping it that way."

"Why don't you want people acknowledging it?"

"Because when people at McKinley have 'acknowledged' my birthday in the past, I've ended up with twice the number of bruises and the ceremonial 'Birthday Slushie.' And I don't mean that as a noun."

Blaine's fists curled as they made their way out into the parking lot – Blaine pointedly ignoring the warning against students going off campus by a passing teacher – but did not voice aloud his thoughts, which mostly consisted of names he wanted to call the students of McKinley to their faces. Instead he asked, "Are you a senior?"

"Junior," Kurt corrected. A pause, and then, "Why?"

He shrugged. "Well, y'know, normally there's a sort of a social hierarchy when it comes to grades. Superiority in the seniors, all that bullshit..."

Kurt gave him a strange look. "Aren't you a junior too, though?"

"Yeah, but Dalton isn't exactly normal, now is it? Here, the social hierarchy is based on fear."

Kurt gave a noncommittal noise as he unlocked his car – a sleek black Navigator – and set the bouquet on the driver's seat. "I suppose. At McKinley it's more about envy – who people _want_ to be."

Blaine frowned. "That's fuckin' retarded."

"What do you mean?"

"Every single one of them should be envious of _you_, Legs."

Kurt's "that's not my name" was ruined by the smile spreading across his face.

…

To Kurt's astonishment, almost two dozen boys showed up for auditions that afternoon. Wes, David, Thad, Jeff, and Nick were the first to arrive. Andrew and a couple of his senior friends appeared soon after, and before long, the tearoom was packed with students. Kurt took a deep breath, tried to remain calm, studied the group, searched for one particular face.

Blaine slipped through the door. Late, but present.

"Good to see ya, Anderson," Puck grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. "I was sort of wondering if you'd even show up."

"Fuck you, Puckerman. I said I'd be here, so I'm here." He eyed the mohawked boy and added, "Why are _you_ here?"

"I asked him to come," Kurt cut in. "He was in McKinley's glee club – I'm hoping he can help get this one off the ground as well."

"Isn't that sort of like betrayal?" Nick commented, frowning suspiciously at Puck.

"Watch it, Duval." Puck's glare was dangerous. "I'm no eggs benedict. While I'm at _this_ school I'll be a part of _this_ glee club. Whenever I get out of this hellhole, I'll go back to New Directions. But I ain't gonna rat on either club or share top-secret intel or shit like that. That's not how I roll. Besides, Kurt needs me."

The countertenor laughed. "You wish, Noah."

Madame Abel slipped in, giving Kurt a little wave before sinking down at one of the small tables in the back. They'd come to a mutual agreement – Kurt would run the meetings, she would do whatever was necessary of the official faculty advisor.

"Alright, settle down, please!"

The noise level remained the same.

Puck rolled his eyes. "See? _This_ is why you need me." He stood up on one of the tables, which creaked ominously. "_Hey! Listen up, dirtshits!_"

The room immediately fell silent. Kurt sighed. "Not a method I would commend, but thank you anyway." He turned to address the group at large. "Alright, hi. Thank you for coming. First things first: auditions. They'll be individual, and judged by Madame Abel and myself. If you're not willing to dedicate your time and give full commitment to this club, please don't even bother trying out." There was a stirring amongst the students, but nobody left. "Great. Now, if you could all come up and write down your name, we can begin."

…

**How do you think it's gonna go? ;)**

**P.S. Due to the Great Purge scare, I've decided to upload all of my fics onto Scarves and Coffee as well, just to be safe. So if for whatever reason this fic gets taken down, you'll be able to find it over there :) Link can be found either on my profile or on my Tumblr.**

**Kisses,**

**~Ripple**


	12. Chapter 12: Impromptu

**I could spew about a dozen excuses why this update is so late. But I feel like enough of an assface already. So just...Here you go!**

…

In the end, fifteen boys made the cut. Kurt hated to turn any of them away, but he had to be tough; if they were going to compete, they would need the best voices this school had to offer. Nothing less.

"Alright, congratulations for making the cut," he began. "Now, the second order of business – a name."

"The sexaphones," Nick immediately threw out.

"Eargasms."

"The Bangin' Baritones."

"We're not all baritones you dumbfuck."

"Oral Ecstasy!"

"The Warblers."

The room fell silent, all eyes turning to Blaine. He glowered and hunched his shoulders, just daring any of them to judge him. "What?"

"Why warblers?" Kurt asked, careful to keep his surprise out of his voice. Just curiosity. Because it wasn't necessarily a surprise that Blaine had offered an answer. It was more just impressive it wasn't vulgar in any way.

He shrugged. "Warblers are cool. They've got nice harmonies. But they only sing together, as a group. So even though one of them may have a fuckin' _amazing_ voice, it's only used as part of a whole. Isn't that sort of the whole point of a capella groups? No one voice is more important than another? Or some bullcrap like that."

Kurt beamed, ignoring his last comment. "That's a really good name...Well done, Anderson." Blaine dropped his gaze to the table, but the corners of his lips tilted up in the hint of a smile. Andrew scoffed openly. Kurt raised an eyebrow at him. "Something you'd like to say, Peters?"

"Well, it's sort of ironic that _Anderson_ would say that."

"Why?"

"Because we all know he's gonna be the star. As usual."

Blaine stood. "If you've got a problem, you can leave. Nobody wants to see your fugly face around here anyway."

"Blaine, sit down," Kurt soothed authoritatively. Then, to Andrew, "Everyone is allowed to audition for solos, Peters. No one's just given it. This will be run on an entirely fair and just system." He waited to see if Andrew had anything to say to that, but he remained silent. "Alright. Now, all in favor of 'The Warblers'?"

Every hand except for Andrew's went up. He forced his friends' down as well, but it didn't matter.

Kurt tried to suppress his grin as he said, "Alright, that's a majority. The Warblers it is. Now, we'll be meeting again tomorrow after classes let out. For now, I'd like anybody interested in being on the Council to stay behind."

"Council?" Jeff echoed blankly.

Kurt nodded. "The Warblers will be run by three upperclassmen. They'll work with me on song selection, running the meetings, choreography, that sort of thing. They need to be dedicated, hard-working, willing to spend their free time on this, and preferably have some previous knowledge about show choir." He glanced around the room, met most of their eyes. "If any of you are interested, please stay. If not, you're free to go."

He turned and headed for the back corner, where Madame Abel was still seated. She beamed up at him.

"You're doing marvelously! I haven't seen a room of boys this obedient since- Well, ever! This is a wonderful thing, what you are doing for them. I am so glad you asked me to supervise."

He smiled back. "Thanks. It's going to take a lot of effort on everyone's part but I think this might actually work..." When he turned back, there were only seven people left – Blaine, his friends, and Puck. Kurt fought back the knowing smile threatening to spread across his face. _Of course. Nobody wants to put any extra effort into anything around here. Even an extracurricular._ "Alright, guys, you all want to be on the Council?"

"I don't honestly care," Jeff admitted cheerfully, his hand in Nick's back pocket. "I'm just here because everyone else is."

"Same," Nick put in.

Kurt rolled his eyes, but did not kick them out.

"Well, Hummel, you _know_ I should be on it," Puck said. "I was in New Directions; I know how a glee club works. I can help you."

The countertenor pinned him with a skeptical eyebrow. "You swear not to abuse the power?"

Puck pretended to look offended. "Ouch! That hurts deep, man." When Kurt's gaze did not waver, he chuckled and said, "Yeah, okay, fine, I promise. I'll be a perfect fucking angel. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," Kurt deadpanned.

"I think Thad should be on it," Blaine opined, nodding towards the boy in question. "He's got good study habits and shit. Probably make a good Council member." A smile flickered on Thad's lips that he seemed to be struggling not to show.

"You up for it?" Kurt asked.

Thad nodded, a little too eagerly. He glanced around and added, "I mean, sure. I guess. It's not like I have anything better to do in this craphole."

Wes turned to David. "Rock paper scissors?" The darker-skinned boy immediately held up his hands, fist in palm. Kurt wanted to scoff at their method, but if it gave him his third member, he couldn't really complain. Both students were probably equally qualified for the position.

In the end, Wes won, and Kurt had his three Council members.

"Meet me at the front office tomorrow at lunch," Kurt ordered them as they all prepared to depart. "We need to discuss Sectionals."

"Are we competing?" Nick asked eagerly.

"I'm not sure yet," Kurt warned. "We'll need to talk about it. _Tomorrow_. For now, go do your homework. I'll see you all later. Don't be late for practice."

They grumbled in consent and parted ways.

…

The next day, during morning break, Blaine and Puck were heading up to Puck's dorm room for some of the chips he had stashed away under his bed when they both paused, and backtracked. Voices were coming from the second-floor common room.

"Those guys are in the Warblers, right?" Puck whispered. Blaine nodded in confirmation, eyes fixed upon the five or six underclassmen gathered near the fireplace, working out an a cappella version of "Call Me Maybe." They didn't have any words, yet, just accompaniment, and they were clearly a little uneasy about it all. It was obviously their first time doing something like this.

"Looks like they may need a little help," Puck hinted.

Blaine smirked. "Well, what kind of team leaders would we be if he didn't give them a hand?"

"My thoughts exactly, Anderson."

The group of boys started from the beginning again, and right when the lyrics were supposed to start on the original song, Blaine burst in, his voice joining theirs smoothly and effortlessly. They jumped at the sudden inclusion but managed to keep going, their beat and back-up vocals supporting Blaine as he sang the first verse, leaping up on the couches and pulling exaggerated faces at them. Puck followed suit.

_Your stare was holdin',_

_Ripped jeans, skin was showin'_

_Hot night, wind was blowin'_

_Where you think you're going, baby?_

They were quickly drawing an audience. Students crowded around the edge of the room, stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the doorways, squeezed into the corners. Blaine grinned and leapt up onto the back of a couch with Puck, pretending to flirt and laughing a bit when Puck played along; this was a great way to build the younger Warblers' confidence. And it didn't hurt that they were gaining support from the student body. That could come in handy later on, if Principal Dickenson decided to give the glee club a hard time.

_Before you came into my life I missed you so bad _

_I missed you so bad, I missed you so, so bad _

_Before you came into my life I missed you so bad _

_And you should know that _

_So call me maybe_

When the song ended, their audience burst into raucous applause, and Puck and Blaine took exaggerated bows from the top of the coffee table before gesturing to the underclassmen.

"Very nice, guys," Blaine said. "You ever done something like this before?"

"No, never," a tattooed sophomore breathed excitedly. "That was fuckin' awesome!"

"Get used to it," advised Puck, slinging an arm around Blaine's shoulder.

As the other boys high-fived and congratulated each other, Puck pulled Blaine a little to the side. The crowd was thinning out again now that the impromptu show was over, and classes were about to start up again. Before they parted, though, there was something they needed to discuss.

"The acoustics in here are pretty bitchin'," Puck said bluntly.

Blaine grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. He already knew what Puck was hinting at. He'd noticed it as well. "Looks like we've got ourselves a new meeting place for the Warblers, huh, Puckerman?"

"Want me to tell him during the Council meeting at lunch?"

"Yeah, definitely." He paused, and then added, "Tell him about this, too. He'll probably spew some shit about not disturbing the learning environment, but he should know that the others are gettin' into it. If we're gonna be singing on stage, these guys need to be comfortable in front of an audience."

Puck nodded in agreement. "Will do."

…

**Sorry it's so short. :( There was a mishap with my hard-drive and I lost the original chapter. But anywho, what do you think they'll sing for Regionals? :D**

**Kisses,**

**~Ripple**


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